


Secret Hell

by kally77



Series: Bloody Soul series [4]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-12
Updated: 2013-06-19
Packaged: 2017-12-14 19:50:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 78,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/840703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kally77/pseuds/kally77
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of Heaven's Key, Spike returns - with a pulse.<br/>Retelling of season 6.<br/>Final part of the series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Without Him

They were all silent as they left the cemetery; they often were, lately, Willow reflected glumly. Too tired to banter, too aware of how many close calls there had been yet again to even pretend everything was fine. Giles had a slight limp to his stride; Xander was holding his side and grimacing with each step under Anya’s concerned gaze; but Tara’s face was what made Willow’s stomach clench. The scratch across her cheek had stopped bleeding, and it would undoubtedly disappear within a couple of days, but it was still undeniable proof that a demon had laid its claws on her girlfriend, and Willow couldn’t and wouldn’t accept that.

“I’m going to swing by Buffy’s house,” she announced just as they reached the graveyard’s gates, and although quiet, her voice seemed to echo in the night. As though by an unvoiced agreement, they all stopped and stood silently on the sidewalk. Giles took his glasses off and, predictably, pulled out a handkerchief to clean them. There were shared looks, cleared throats, but eventually, Tara spoke first, giving Willow a pleading look.

“Now?” she asked tiredly. “It’s late, they’re probably in bed already.”

“Then I’ll wake Buffy. I’m sure she won’t mind.”

Even if she did mind, Willow couldn’t say that she cared much. She loved her friend as much as ever, she understood her grief as much as anyone who had ever loved and lost could, but she simply couldn’t wait anymore without saying a word. She couldn’t wait to see if Buffy would or wouldn’t emerge from her mourning and stubbornness before someone got seriously hurt. 

As though in counterpoint to her thoughts, Xander’s voice rose in the night. “She needs time, Wills.”

Willow shook her head. “We don’t have time. We’re all exhausted and hurt and… and… we’re not the Slayer! She is!”

“That I am. But I think you’re doing a super fine job too.”

Everybody save Giles looked at the obnoxiously perky robot that had just jumped into the conversation. No one answered its comment. There were times, and they were becoming more and more frequent, when Willow regretted having fixed it after the battle against Glory. It had been nothing more than a challenge at the time, one she had explained to the others by pointing out that the ‘bot could help with patrol in the beginning while Buffy was too bad off to slay. But the few days Willow had anticipated using the ‘bot for had turned into weeks, then months. Buffy was better, functioning as well as could be expected, but still adamantly refusing to patrol, claiming that she had made a promise and returning to her slaying activities would break it. 

“Buffy _is_ the Slayer,” Giles said suddenly, glasses back on his nose and hands thrust deep inside his pockets. “But she is also free to do as she pleases. As much as I believe she ought to resume her duties, I do not think that forcing her to patrol would solve anything. She has to be ready for it; else, she’ll get herself killed her first night out.”

Willow wanted to argue and point out that maybe an intervention was needed, but, already, he was striding away with barely a nod for goodbye. Within seconds, the BuffyBot caught up with him, throwing a wide smile and “Good night all!” over her shoulder toward the group. Even from where she stood, Willow could see Giles’ shoulders hunch a little more; he made no secret that he hated when it was his turn to host the robot between patrols. Willow was rather certain he hated the ‘bot, period. It wasn’t Buffy, wasn’t a Slayer, yet it served as a substitute, and was a constant reminder that Buffy was home rather than slaying. She could have bet that Giles wanted just as much as she did to grab Buffy and shake her until she saw reason, but so far he had hid whatever he thought behind repeated comments about Buffy being free to do – or not do – anything she wanted. Tonight had been the closest he had ever come to criticizing her decision to refuse to act as the Slayer.

“Willow…” Tara said gently. “I thought… I thought we agreed to leave Buffy in peace until we got him back.”

“You’ve given up?” Anya chimed in. “Because if you did, I need to know and…”

“I am not giving up,” Willow interrupted her. “But I’m not going to let any of you get hurt, or worse, while we wait to be ready.”

“No one’s going to get hurt,” Xander said strongly, although his statement might have been more convincing if he hadn’t been holding his ribs. “We’ve held on all summer, we can hold on a bit longer until we do the spell. For Buffy’s sake.”

Willow didn’t reply, and when the others started walking again, she let Tara pull her toward their dorm, and away from Revello. A few more days, she promised herself. She would wait a few more days, no more, and then if they still didn’t have everything needed for the spell, she would tell Buffy what they all thought – that Spike hadn’t died so she could spend the rest of her life cloistered in her home, crying over him and pretending she was a normal girl. And if that didn’t work, maybe there were other spells that might be able to help Buffy. She had targeted the obvious way, a spell that would bring Spike back and fix things completely; but unlike Buffy, she wasn’t that stubborn that she wouldn’t consider other options.

*****

“You didn’t even come when mom… when she died. So don’t pretend you care now.”

It had been months, but it was still easier for Dawn not to say some words together – like ‘mom’ and ‘died’. The man on the other end of the line didn’t seem to notice however, and he continued trying to make her believe he gave a damn about her.

“Dawnie, you know I wasn’t in the country when…”

“Good excuse,” she interrupted. “It would be better if it didn’t include ‘vacation’ and ‘girlfriend’, too.”

She heard her father take a deep breath, and when he talked again, there was nothing but cold in his voice.

“Put your sister on the line. Now.”

Without a word, Dawn left the receiver on the tile counter and took a few steps out of the kitchen and to the bottom of the staircase.

“Buffy,” she called out. “Dad’s on the phone. He wants to talk to you.”

She didn’t wait for an answer and returned to the kitchen to prepare a sandwich for her lunch. Once upon a time, unpacking her lunch bag at school had been a little like unwrapping a present as she never knew what her mother would have packed for her that day. It was hard to surprise yourself when you fixed your own meals.

After a few seconds, Buffy finally walked in and picked up the phone. Dawn kept an eye on her, and on the conversation, imagining all too clearly how the other side went.

“Hi Dad, it’s good you called back, we…”

Buffy slowly turned toward Dawn as she listened.

“She said that, huh?”

Dawn tried hard to decipher Buffy’s expression and tone, but they were both beyond her reach.

“No, she does not. She knows better than to talk to me like that. I guess she’s upset with you for some reason.”

Dawn’s eyes dropped to the food in front of her and she started clearing up the island. She knew better, indeed; Buffy was trying so hard to act as though everything was fine that Dawn was more than a little afraid to break the bubble and see what would happen if she did act up.

“No. I can take care of her.”

That caught Dawn’s full attention again. He wasn’t trying to take her away, was he? She had no desire whatsoever to go live with him and his skanky girlfriend. Or at least, she imagined the girl was skanky, and she didn’t want to be proved otherwise.

“Dad, we’re not moving to LA. Our home is here. Our friends. Our schools. Speaking of which, the first part of my tuition is due next week and…”

Wincing, Dawn packed her lunch and leaned against the island, hoping to read what the answer to that particular question would be on Buffy’s face. This was the reason why they had tried to reach their father in the first place, and if he didn’t play along…

“I see,” Buffy said flatly. “Then I guess I’ll have to call Child Services.”

Dawn barely suppressed a groan. This was bad. This was very, very bad.

“A threat? You think it’s threatening to be asked to put food on our table? Always a pleasure talking with you, Dad.”

With that, Buffy hung up, and the phone clattered onto the counter when she dropped it with a little less care than necessary. Dawn gave her a concerned look; she hadn’t seen her sister react that strongly to anything since the beginning of the summer. Since Dawn had given her Spike’s last words. Buffy had barely managed to hold on by her nails and not fall apart in front of her sister back then. It was good, incredibly so, to see her slip out of her usual detachment, even if it was to show anger instead, and even if her reaction accentuated how difficult their financial situation seemed to be. In seconds, though, the anger was gone, and Buffy shook her head, dismissing the question Dawn had been about to ask.

“Ready? We’re going to be late.”

With a forced smile, Dawn followed her sister out of the house, noticing only then the stern dress and cardigan she was wearing. She was really taking that parent teacher day seriously, if she wanted to make such a serious impression, and it was good to see her talk to other people, even smile and attempt a lame joke with the literature teacher. Buffy didn’t smile nearly enough anymore, and Dawn had long ago run out of ideas on ways to cheer her up.

But the good intentions didn’t last – they never did – and by midmorning, just when the parents of Dawn’s homeroom were gathered into a classroom and treated to a speech by an assistant principal, Buffy had that sad, faraway expression that could only mean she was thinking of Spike.

_I miss him too_ , Dawn wanted to shout. She had wanted to say the words all summer long, but she hadn’t found the courage to do it so far. She was afraid that reopening that particular scar would prompt the accusation that Buffy had never voiced until now but that Dawn was sure would come eventually. It was her fault that Spike had died. He had jumped to close the portal opened by her blood. And every time she saw her sister fighting back tears, Dawn was reminded of that simple but cruel fact. She should have died, not Spike.

*****

“Shouldn’t we tell them before Giles leaves? That way he can join in our happiness and contribute a nice pre-wedding gift.”

Xander sighed and brought a hand to his temple, massaging the beginning of headache away. He and Anya had had that particular discussion a million times already, or so it seemed.

“Anh, we already talked about it…” She started pouting but that did not stop him. “…and we agreed to wait until Buffy felt better.”

“But…”

“It would be cruel to shove our engagement in her face when she just lost her boyfriend.”

Anya’s eyebrow twitched irritably. “Just? It’s been almost five months already! Five months of hiding that damn ring. If you didn’t want me to wear it…”

“I do. And you will. Let’s just… wait a bit more, OK? Now that you’ve found that urn for the spell maybe…”

He didn’t notice he had lowered his voice until Anya answered in the same tone. Giles was on the other side of the store, but the subject was far more sensitive than their wedding.

“Maybe,” she repeated where he had left off. “But what if it doesn’t work? It’s serious magic Willow wants to do, and so many things could go wrong…”

“Then let’s just hope they won’t,” he cut in, unwilling to hear any more about this. He already had enough doubts and fears without adding to them. On one hand, Spike had never been his favorite person, and he still couldn’t silence that little voice that Buffy had always deserved much better than a vampire. On the other, Buffy wasn’t getting over the fact that the guy had given his life for her and Dawn, and to see her that miserable for so long was upsetting. She had never had it easy to begin with, and to lose her boyfriend in that fashion, even a boyfriend of the undead kind, was a cruel trick from fate. 

That was probably why he had agreed to Willow’s plan of bringing him back. In truth, he had been more than reluctant, at first, but once Willow had assured him they could give Buffy the human boyfriend she ought to have had, it had been easier to accept. He still thought they should have told Anya and Tara about that part, too, but he understood Willow’s concern that they might have insisted to bring him back as he had been; neither of them had ever seemed concerned that he was a vampire.

And now they were really going to do it.

“Can we at least discuss the wedding’s colors again?” Anya asked sulkily.

*****

Giles could remember the last time he had sat with Buffy in the training room, on this same couch, as though it had only been the previous day. It had been the afternoon before their last battle against Glory, and things had been as difficult then as they were now. The difference though was back then, Buffy had been full of life, of anger, ready to fight and win – or die. And of course, back then, Spike had been present.

“The reason I asked you to come,” he started, shifting slightly so that he could see her more easily, “is to tell you I am leaving Sunnydale.”

He counted three heartbeats before she reacted in any way, and then it was only a light twitch of her eyebrow.

“Where are you going?” she asked, almost emotionlessly.

“Back to London. Permanently.”

Her lack of reaction was unnerving, and Giles stood and started pacing.

“I am a Watcher,” he explained when she had remained quiet for too long. “If you refuse to act as the Slayer, I have no purpose in Sunnydale. Sparring with a robot after it has been repaired to make sure it’s up to par isn’t what I signed up for. So I might as well leave.”

Lie upon lie. The only true words in all of that were that he had spent his afternoon training with that damned robot as it had apparently gone out alone and encountered more than it could take care of by itself. 

Even if Buffy wasn’t slaying, he still could fight, night after night, keep an eye on the Hellmouth, wait for her to see reason, and if he wasn’t willing to do that, he couldn’t call himself a Watcher. If nothing else, he had a store to run in Sunnydale, and for that alone he should stay. And that was without even considering the paternal feelings he had developed for her, for the others over the years. But he had hoped that announcing his departure would shake her out of her apathy, and it justified the lies. 

To his surprise, and dismay, she smiled. A small, sad smile, but still a smile.

“I understand,” she said quietly. “I’ll miss you, but I understand.”

Resigned, he admitted to himself that he had lost the gamble. She wasn’t going to ask him to stay, which, he could admit to himself at least, he had hoped. She wasn’t going to promise she would start slaying again. Rather, she was willing to let him go rather than come back on her promise. He could almost hear her past words echoing in the room again, strong and filled with all the determination she possessed.

_I can’t lose Dawn. Can’t lose anyone else I love. And if I do tonight, I'm done with it, Giles. I'm quitting._  
  
And she had done just that, he had recently realized. She hadn’t simply taken a few weeks off as he had first hoped. She hadn’t put down her stake to give herself time to mourn. She had simply done, once again, what no other Slayer had dared do before her, not without quickly being ‘removed’ by the Council. She had quit. And the only reason she was still alive was that the Slayer line had already passed through her and now rested on another’s shoulders. Was she even aware of the pardon she had received?

“When are you leaving?” she asked after a few instants. “We could… I mean, the gang could do something, maybe, to say goodbye.”

Giles shook his head. “I’d rather avoid that,” he said, and tried not to choke on the words. “I’ve made all the arrangements, I’m leaving tonight.”

The decision hadn’t been easy to make, but he was glad he had made it. To continue watching Buffy as she appeared so indifferent to what was going on around her was beyond him, and as far as he was concerned, she had proved that nothing he could do or say would change anything. He felt a little guilty about leaving the gang to deal with patrols, but they all had choices to make, and he would return if they needed him, he had told them as much. Somehow, he was rather certain that Anya at least wouldn’t mind his departure, not when he was leaving the shop to her care; the others had expressed concerns about having one less fighter by their side, but they understood his decision.

“I’ll miss you,” she repeated as she stood. Coming to him, she gave him a quick hug and, with another sad little smile, left the training room.

“I miss you too,” he replied with a sigh.

*****

She had been thinking about it for weeks, months, and as she knelt on Spike’s grave Willow could feel shivers of anticipation running down her spine. Despite her meditation, her heart was beating faster than normal and her palms were damp, as they had been that afternoon when she had harvested that last ingredient. But she hadn’t flinched then, she had done what was needed, and she would do the same thing now.

Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes for a second and centered herself. When she opened them again, she was ready, filled with the utter confidence that soon Spike would be back. She looked at Tara, Xander, and Anya in turn; shadows created by the candles they held were dancing on their faces, making their expressions hard to read. Tara seemed nervous, more than she had ever been so far while they had talked of the spell and gotten ready for it. She hadn’t voiced any outright objections, but there had been times…

Giving a slight shake of her head, Willow focused again. Now wasn’t the time for doubts. She heard herself give a few last recommendations, but already her mind was ahead of that, on the task she was about to perform, on the incredible magic feat that she would accomplish. It wasn’t without dangers, she knew that, but she was confident in her powers, in her preparation, and in the simple fact that what she planned was possible. 

Spike’s death had been anything but normal, no stake, beheading or fire, and these instants where he had lain as though sleeping before crumbling to ashes were only further proof of that. He had given his life so that Dawn could live, and, beyond her, Buffy, the gang, the world. Whether his essence had disappeared, or been drawn to hell because he was a demon, or to a hell dimension because of the nature of the portal that had killed him, Willow didn’t know, but she was sure of this one thing – she couldn’t leave him there when it was possible to bring him back. She owed it to him to try, for his sacrifice; she owed it to her best friend, because Buffy deserved to be happy; she owed it to herself, simply because she could. She could already see in her mind’s eyes Spike’s and Buffy’s gratitude, Tara’s and Giles’ pride at what she had proved able to accomplish.

With some trepidation, she plunged a finger in the urn, coating it with blood and then brought it to her forehead. The words rolled off her tongue without a hesitation.

It had begun.

*****

_As a human, I never had a proper burial. I had, instead, Drusilla’s idea of what I needed to be properly reborn as a vampire. From what I puzzled out, she found a recent grave, cleared most of the dirt, pulled a body from the coffin and put me there instead, coming back the next night to see me rise. Not exactly a party, but the earth wasn’t packed and once I had broken free of the coffin, it was relatively easy to pull myself out. Plus, she was waiting for me with my first meal, so I got my bearings pretty fast. I quickly understood where I was, what my purpose was now, and how to use my fangs. A true rebirth, good and proper._

_The second time was a bit less pleasant._

_It had been months since I had been buried, and the ground was hard and packed. Thankfully, the ashes of what I had been turning into a full, corporeal body cracked the soil, raised it in places, so that it was eventually possible for me to claw my way out. But while I did, I couldn’t see, I inhaled soil when I tried to shout, I was naked and could feel the earth pressing on me from all sides, I…_

_OK, you get the picture I think. Not pleasant. At all._

_But what made it all worse was that when I finally emerged, coughing and dry heaving, bleeding and trembling, I was alone. No one to welcome me into the world, this time. No one to smile at me, hold me, help me._

_Nothing but the night, the cold, and the demons._


	2. Walking Through Hell

For what felt like hours, Spike remained on all fours, bleeding fingers curled in the cool grass, trembling, dry heaving, and coughing. He had dirt in his mouth but couldn’t manage to spit; tears were washing away the soil stinging his eyes.

When, finally, he had managed to catch his breath, he struggled to stand, dimly aware that he was naked. Shuddering, he wrapped his arms around himself and looked around, trying to pierce the foggy blur that surrounded him. His ears were buzzing, but even through the dizzying hum he could still hear cries in the distance, engine noises. By squinting, he could make out forms – trees? Engine noises and trees? Was he in a forest? Why would he be? Where was he? Why wasn’t he…

A curved stone on the ground caught his attention and he stepped closer to it. The words were fuzzy, but he managed to decipher them, realizing as he did that it was a broken tombstone he was reading. Not just any tombstone, but his.

 _Spike  
Loved  
_  
Mindlessly, he knelt next to the stone and reached out to touch the words, leaving trails of blood in his wake. He closed his eyes for a few moments, trying to get his bearings, and a face smiled at him from behind his closed eyelids.

_Loved_

Buffy.

He had to find Buffy.

When he opened his eyes again, the gleaming metal inches from the stone penetrated the fog that surrounded him. Squinting hard, he shifted toward it. Metal spikes on a collar. A collar around the neck of an apparently dead demon. A dead demon lying practically above his grave.

His thoughts and mind were a jumbled mess and it was hard to concentrate past the immediate sensations he was experiencing and question them, but even in his dazed state, he could still appreciate that something just wasn’t right. The world was off around him, his own body felt foreign, but the worst of all was being alone and lost who knew where.

The cold searing him down to his bones set Spike in motion again. Flinching at the pain coursing through his hands as he used them, he struggled with the demon’s body in front of him, retrieving the jeans and denim jacket that gave him an illusion of warmth. The laced up boots, he had to give up on; between his shaking hands and the blur of everything around him, he couldn’t manage to untie the tangled laces.

With one arm curled around him to keep the jacket closed, and the other extended in front of him in an attempt to avoid bumping into unseen obstacles, he started walking, letting instinct take over as, even by squinting, he could barely see where he was going. When his bare feet finally found asphalt, he couldn’t have explained how he had found his way out of the woods.

The buzzing was decreasing, but it was still loud in his head, making it hard to think at all. After a while, he hazily realized that it wasn’t only instinct guiding him, but also habit; the streets were littered as though a riot had occurred, some trashcans were still on fire, but beyond the carnage, it was Sunnydale he was walking through. And being in Sunnydale, however changed the town was, could only be good. One thought was clear, and one thought only. He needed to find Buffy. Once he found her, nothing else would matter anymore.

When he did find her however, he wished he hadn’t.

Joyous calls and laughs had pierced the wall of white noise that enclosed him and, without a second thought, he walked toward the noise, wiping the tears produced by too much squinting with the palm of a dirty hand.

There were demons in front of him, he realized, assembled around a large bonfire, too caught up in what was happening to pay him any mind, so he approached, a little closer, until he could finally see her. Standing in the middle of all these demons. Chains around her arms and legs. Not trying to free herself, as she only waited…

Spike’s stomach lurched when he understood what she was waiting for, what the chains were attached to, what the demon speaking – the leader? – was saying. Before he could do anything however, the demon gave the signal, and the motorcycles roared. In the split second before she was torn apart, Buffy looked straight at him, and beyond the fuzz and tears that half blinded him, Spike could have sworn he saw her smile.

“Spike! I knew you’d come back for…”

And then she was gone.

His wrenching cry went unnoticed amidst the cheers of the demons, but Spike wasn’t even aware he was shouting. Unable to look where Buffy’s dismembered body lay, he turned, and, without thinking, without caring about the pain each new step brought forth or about the growing emptiness in his chest where he used to love, he ran. He now knew where he was; he should have known right away. Where else for a demon to be after death if not in hell?

He only stopped when there was nowhere left to run. Blood pounding in his ears and heart beating so fast he was becoming dizzy, he hit with both fists the brick wall at the end of the alley he had entered, oblivious to the renewed bleeding of his knuckles, or to the raw shout that was torn from his throat and ended in a dry sob.

Voices rose behind him, all to easy to recognize now that the buzzing had ceased, but Spike refused to listen to them, refused to turn and look at the gang – _her_ gang – certain that if he did, they would either blame him for having done nothing to save her, or die in front of his eyes like she had.

A light, hesitant touch to his shoulder startled him and he turned, batting the offending hand away, finding two women only a step behind him, another couple just behind them. They were no more than blurred outlines and he did not try to bring their faces into focus; he didn’t need to. Unconsciously pressing back against the wall behind him, he tried not to let their words in, tried to find a way out, but had little success with either.

“… in shock…”

“… clothes? He looks like a hellion…”

“…breathing? Is he human? Willow, did you know he would be…”

“… dirt, as though he dug… God, did we leave him…”

“… tell Buffy…”

Hearing her name sent a jolt through Spike; he could see her again, chained, yet smiling, as she was about to die, smiling because she had seen him, and he had done nothing to save her, nothing at all…

His desperate cry startled the Scoobies, and they retreated a couple of steps. He took advantage of the opening and leapt forward, running by them, away from them, until he couldn’t hear them shout his name anymore.

When the blurry outline of a rickety tower came into sight, he didn’t hesitate for a second before climbing.

*****

“Buffy! Look!”

Instinct took over and Buffy raised her ax as Dawn’s shout startled her. Hastening her pace to keep up with Dawn, she followed her sister toward the remnants of what had once been the robot. When she saw the broken thing, a fresh wave of grief passed over her and she shuddered. She could remember as clearly as though it had been yesterday the first time she had ever seen the ‘bot, her anger against Spike that he had had a robot made in her likeness, her fear when she had heard Glory had him, her relief when she had brought him back home…

Tears were threatening to rise to her eyes, and she shook her head. It wasn’t the time or place. She had to get Dawn to safety.

“Dawnie, let’s go before whoever did this comes back.”

There was a note of hysteria to Dawn’s voice when she replied. “We can’t! We’ve got to find all the pieces, fix her, the gang needs her for patrol and…”

For a few seconds, Buffy watched the torso and head at her feet, rather than Dawn as she ran around, picking up an arm here, a leg there, continuing to babble about how the ‘bot made it possible for Buffy to stay home.

The thing’s eyes blinked and looked up at Buffy. “Where did he go?” it asked, a slight pout on its lips. “I knew he would come back but now he’s gone again.”

Sighing, Buffy looked at Dawn again and called her. “Come on, Dawn. That thing is wrecked; no way Willow will be able to fix it this time. We’ve gotta…”

A single word coming from the ground silenced Buffy, and she looked once more at the frowning face that wasn’t really her own. “What did you say?”

But the ‘bot did not answer; mouth open and eyes staring unseeingly, it had apparently ceased to function. Buffy was left to wonder if she had only imagined it saying it had seen Spike. It had to have been a short circuit. Just one more proof of the robot’s obsession for Spike that Willow had never managed to completely erase, and that was the reason for Buffy’s continued refusal to be anywhere near the robot.

“Dawn!” she shouted. “We’re going. Now!”

Dawn protested and tried again to convince Buffy that they had to do something about the robot, but she refused to listen and herded Dawn away from the wreck and toward the Magic Box.

It was the first time in months that she had been out after sunset with a weapon in hand, and she was uncomfortably aware of that fact. The last time she had patrolled, she had been at the peak of her form, and it definitely wasn’t the case anymore. She didn’t have much of a choice, though. Staying home while there were demons in the street, ready to break into the house, had felt more risky than going out and fighting a way to safety for Dawn.

Maybe because of what the ‘bot had said, her thoughts drifted toward Spike, something she usually tried to avoid unless she was alone. What would he have said, if he had seen their town in such a state, demons taking over and destroying at random? He would have fought, without a doubt.

And whatever her previous resolve, she had to fight too.

Taking Dawn to the Magic Box and hope that they would be safe there wasn’t going to cut it, she realized as they hid behind an overturned dumpster while three motorcycles roared by them. If she didn’t do something about that demon gang, it might stay there, for who knew how long, and Dawn and her friends wouldn’t be safe.

They found the Scoobies a couple of streets away from the shop. They looked truly upset, but then they had cause, didn’t they, with demons pillaging the town?

“Keep Dawn out of danger,” she asked, feeling a little awkward to request anything from them when she had refused to fight for months. “I’m going to get rid of these demons.”

She expected them to offer to help; they didn’t. Instead, they shared looks that seemed strangely guilty, and Willow stepped forward.

“There’s something you need to know,” she started, hesitating a little, but Buffy interrupted her.

“Is it about the demons?”

Willow grimaced. “No, but…”

“Then tell me about it later. Find a safe place to hide, I’ll see you all when the town is clear.”

She forced what she hoped was a confident smile to her lips before turning away and striding determinedly toward the noise she could hear, not far away. Loud voices and laughs. Her first slay of the night was waiting. It took a little longer than it once would have, but she eventually killed what was apparently the leader of the demons. One down, how many left to go?

Ax firmly in hand, she simply walked ahead and fought any demon she encountered. After all those months of inactivity, she soon felt the weight of the weapon more acutely than she should have, but she didn’t let that slow her down, and kept looking for more prey to slay, unleashing her anger at being forced to fight and break her vow every time new adversaries turned up.

When she reached the foot of the tower, she couldn’t have said if her subconscious had led her there or if it was a coincidence. She had avoided the site since the fight against Glory, and hadn’t even known that the shoddy construction was still there. To see it again broke through the quick walls she had erected around her pain to be able to fight; the ax clattered to the ground, the noise very loud in the otherwise perfect silence, and she tilted her head to the sky, trying without success not to spill more tears. She couldn’t afford to break down, not now, not when there were still demons in the town and Dawn…

Movement at the top of the tower caught her attention, a dark shadow against the moonlit sky, and Buffy squinted. It was too far for her to really see; yet, an immense, unreasonable hope filled her. That damned robot – broken beyond repair, yes, and malfunctioning, certainly – had said it had seen Spike. What if…

Repeating his name under her breath like a mantra, she ran to the tower and up the staircase. With each step, she was brought back to that night, nearly five months earlier. She had run so fast, then, too, as fast as she had been able to, but she had arrived too late. There had been nothing left for her to do save for watch as Spike jumped to his death. And alongside the hope, a new fear was born. If it was really he, why was he up there? She ran even faster if it was possible.

Finally, she reached the top of the tower, and for a brief instant stilled, her hand shaking as she leaned against a rail for support. It was him. One look sufficed for her to know. His hair wasn’t its usual shocking white color, and he was wearing strange clothes, but it was him, she was sure of it; and before she knew it she was calling out his name, like she hadn’t done months before, like she had so wished she had. And just like she had known he would, he turned toward her.

Five steps took her to him, and closing her arms around him felt like coming home. This time, she promised herself, she wouldn’t ever let go.

*****

_I heard her voice and I turned, and, before I knew it, there she was, in my arms, holding me tight and repeating my name over and over again. It took me a few seconds to realize she was really there, that it wasn’t just an illusion, and when I did, I clung to her as though she was life itself. And maybe that was really what I was doing, because without her there I’d probably have taken that dive again. Anything rather than walk through that hell by myself._

_Everything hurt. My lungs with every breath, my eyes, my bloodied hands and feet, my skin wherever the clothes or the pressure of her body felt like too much. But she was there, and there was nothing else in the world that mattered more to me at that moment. There was nothing else, period._

_There wasn’t the sound of her heartbeat to listen to, to be soothed by. There wasn’t her scent surrounding me and letting me know that she was still there even when my vision blurred from tears and pain and sheer exhaustion. At the time, I didn’t pay attention to it, and if I noticed, I didn’t care. Being with her was enough. Was everything._

_But later, I realized what I had lost. Little things, really. Little things that any vampire takes for granted after two nights with his new fangs. Better sight, better hearing, better sense of smell. Not having these things anymore made me feel as though I wasn’t completely myself, as though some part of me was missing. Which it was, if you want to get down to the base facts. Although…_

_And there we go again. Talking too much, am I?_

_Yeah. Of course. But how do you expect to explain it and make them understand? It’s not like you’ve ever been a vampire, what do you know about the differences?_

_Show them? Show them what? How much of a wanker I am as a human? Thanks ever so much. So very kind of you.  
_


	3. Back

“I can’t believe you’re back.”

It must have been the hundredth time Buffy had said those few words, but awe still filled them every time. She tightened her arm around Spike’s waist for a second as she looked up at him, and noticed the wince that crossed his face.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, mentally cursing herself. “Are you OK? I didn’t hurt you too much, did I?”

He shook his head, but didn’t speak until they had taken a few more steps. When he did, his voice was dry and cracked with pain. “’M alright,” he claimed, and she knew it was a lie. He was limping now, his bare feet hurting from the debris on the asphalt, and shuddering from the cold. She had offered to carry him, but he had protested, his pride apparently wounded that she would even suggest it, and she hadn’t insisted. They were close now anyway, and the house was in sight.

“We’re almost home,” she murmured, and felt more than heard his sigh of relief. She knew he was in pain, yet she couldn’t help smiling still at the idea that Spike was here, with her, a different Spike true, breathing, alive, and probably in shock, but her Spike nonetheless.

“Would you like to eat something?” she asked, realizing that her own stomach was grumbling for the first time in months. “Are you hungry? I’m not such a good cook but I could whip up something to fill you up. Or maybe you want a shower? Clean up all this grime so that I can really see you?”

There was dirt on his face and in his hair, and the glimpses she had had of his chest beneath the denim jacket he wore had shown that it was filthy too. She had asked him what had happened, but he had replied monosyllabically about falling down. She had given up on asking where he had gotten his clothes; they resembled too much those of the demon gang she had been slaying earlier.

“Clean up,” he replied after a moment. “I’m cold.”

She stroked his back gently and walked a little closer to him, trying to share her warmth. “Hot water will make you all better. Here we are.”

Her hands shook as she unlocked the door and pushed it open, and for the umpteenth time since the last battle against Glory, her eyes welled up with tears. For the first time, though, they were happy tears. For the first time, the house felt like home again.

She slowly helped him up the steps, remembering the last time they had been there together, the promise he had made her, how, in hindsight, his words had been prophetic. He paused halfway up the staircase, and she had a feeling that his thoughts had followed the same path as hers.

“The world didn’t end,” he mumbled, a hint of a question in his words.

Her hand clenched briefly on the material of his jacket. “No, it didn’t,” she replied, choking on the words. “You held on to your promise, and it didn’t.”

There was more to say, so much more, including thanks, and the expression of how much she had missed him, but if she started now she would soon be bawling her eyes out and she couldn’t do that; she had to take care of Spike first. On her prompt, they took another step, but then he stopped again.

“Dawn?”

“She’s fine. She’s with the gang right now. She’ll probably be back soon, so we’d better get you cleaned up so she can recognize you, alright?”

Once more, they started walking, and finally reached the bathroom. Spike’s eyes closed in the glare of the bright light, and Buffy took that opportunity to rub at her eyes and get rid of the tears. Pulling the shower curtain closed, she reached in and turned the faucet on to let the water warm up. Then with quiet, meaningless words, she helped Spike shed the jacket and jeans until he stood, naked and shivering, in front of her.

“Going to feel better soon,” she promised as she checked the water temperature. Not too hot but warm enough that the mirror was fogging, that would probably be fine for Spike.

She held his arm when he stepped into the tub, and for a few seconds she watched him as he raised his face up to the spray of water, remaining otherwise immobile. Rivulets of dirt were streaming down his body, revealing skin as pale as it had ever been, as flawless as she remembered it. The water around his feet was turning pink, an unneeded reminder that he had been walking through town barefoot. Without a second thought, Buffy undressed and climbed into the shower behind him, her body trembling at the proximity of his. He barely reacted when she touched his shoulder and rubbed at a spot of dirt.

“Feeling warmer?” she asked quietly, and he hummed a little in response. “Want me to wash your hair?” Another hum followed, which she decided to take as affirmative. Picking up the shampoo bottle, she poured some in her hand before reaching up to lather his hair. He was pliable under her touch, following her silent requests to move his head back or to one side. His hair was silky, softer than it had ever been when bleached, and she smiled to herself as she rinsed grime and shampoo, revealing dark honey colored curls.

“Again,” she said, and he obliged, tilting his head back again as she repeated the process. Finally satisfied that his hair was clean, she picked up a bar of soap and gently started lathering his neck, shoulders, back, legs, thoroughly washing each inch of his skin and reacquainting herself with the feel of him under her hands. After so many months of missing him, these simple, innocent touches had her heart hammering in her chest, and wetness seeping between her legs that had nothing to do with the shower. But when she gently turned him around, she was a little disappointed to discover she was the only one affected. Spike didn’t even open his eyes to look at her.

Without a word, she continued to wash him, soft fingers on his face and chest, even softer on his cock and down his legs.

“I’ll take a look at your feet after you step out of the tub,” she told him as she stood up again. “Do they hurt a lot?”

“No. Not much.”

“That’s good,” she said as she ran her soapy hands down his arm. “But you still might need…”

Words failed her as she reached his right hand and for the first time noticed the bloody, raw knuckles and fingers, the broken fingernails. She immediately took hold of his left hand and saw it was in the same state. As carefully as she knew how, she cleaned first one, then the other, realizing as she did that Spike was watching her.

“Did you fight?” she asked, her voice a little shaky. “Is that how you got hurt?”

“No.”

“What happened, then?”

There was a long pause before he finally mumbled: “Dug myself out.”

At first, Buffy thought she had heard wrong. She wanted to believe she had heard him wrong. But the state of his hands and the dirt that had covered him from head to toes only minutes earlier made it all too clear that she hadn’t. Suddenly feeling incredibly cold despite the warm water and air around her, she stepped closer to Spike and hugged him, closing her eyes tight so that she wouldn’t cry. It took him a few seconds before he finally returned the hug, and when he did she only wanted to sob more.

They remained like this for a few minutes, and Buffy made sure her emotions were back under control before she pulled away from him.

“I’ll get you something to wear,” she said with what she hoped was a smile and not a grimace. “Can you get out of the tub and dry yourself?”

He nodded.

“Anything else you need, love?”

He started shaking his head, then frowned. “Got a headache.”

Alarmed, she touched his forehead. “I’ll get you aspirin. You don’t look like you have fever. Do you hurt anywhere else? Are you…”

“T’s just the squinting,” he interrupted her softly. “’M fine.”

Her own eyes widened in understanding, and she brightened a little as she stepped out of the tub. “I’ve got just the thing for you. I’ll be right back.”

She toweled herself dry on the way to her room and threw on some clothes before opening her slaying chest. She took out the duster, unfolding it carefully and pulling out the glasses from the right pocket before placing the coat on the back of the chair at her desk. She then found loose sweats that Spike had worn before and an oversized t-shirt, and, taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, returned to him.

*****

As he wiped the mirror with the palm of his hand, Spike paid little attention to his bandaged knuckles. The discomfort was minimum, and he would heal. But he did frown at the image that was reflected back at him. The glasses had made the world around him clear again, but he hated them, hated the weakness they represented, and hated above all that Buffy had kept them after his brief stint as a human, months earlier, when he had been split into two. He hadn’t dared ask, but why had she held on to them? Had she hoped something like this would happen, and he would be human again, and need the glasses once more? Some day, he would have to ask her. Right now, though, it was hard enough to concentrate on one idea long enough to make some sense out of it; he didn’t think he could sustain an actual conversation. 

He had William’s bad eyes, William’s hair, but at least – thank God – he didn’t feel like William. Didn’t feel like much, actually, more confused than anything, but he wasn’t going to start speaking like a proper gentleman anytime soon, nor felt any urge to write poetry. Small mercies.

A hand on his shoulder startled him, and his eyes shifted in the mirror, settling on Buffy’s image as it smiled at him.

“Do you want to come downstairs?” she suggested. “Eat something? Or would you rather get some rest?”

He would have been lying if he had said he cared, so he simply shrugged and followed when she carefully took his hand in hers and pulled him out of the bathroom. His feet hadn’t needed bandages, but they still stung with each step, pinpricks of pain that anchored him to what was his reality now. He sat down at the island and watched Buffy go around the kitchen, not really understanding what she was doing, again not caring beyond the simple fact that she was near him. Her hair was longer, he noticed as she had his back to him. He had that distinct memory of running his fingers through it in their last moments together, when they had mated, and it had been…

The thought gave him pause and he frowned. He remembered mating with her, remembered it as clearly as he remembered his name, as clearly as he remembered everything else, so why couldn’t he feel their link anymore? It took him long seconds to understand.

“I died,” he then said, and Buffy froze in front of the stove. Slowly, she turned toward him, her smile so sad it made him ache inside.

“You did,” she murmured as she walked around the island to stand next to him. Her fingers caressed his cheek with no more pressure than a light breeze.

“How long?”

“Almost five months,” she replied, always very quiet. “It would have been five months in five days. It felt like forever.”

She paused, apparently hesitating, then asked: “How long was it, for you?”

He shook his head. “Longer… No, shorter. I’m not…”

They both jumped, startled, when the front door opened with a loud bang, and Dawn’s voice rose immediately.

“Buffy? Are you…”

“She’s here.”

“He’s here too.”

“Thank goodness! How is he, Buffy? Does he…”

There were too many voices suddenly, all of them excited, and Spike blocked out what they were saying as he vainly tried to extricate himself from Dawn’s hug. It felt suddenly as though the world was closing down on him, and he needed…

“Dawn, guys, give him some space, please. Calm down.”

Only when he saw the worry in Buffy’s eyes did Spike realize these last words had been meant for him. The others had fallen silent and taken a few steps back, and it was suddenly easier to breathe.

“You knew he was back?” Buffy asked them, taking the focus off him which Spike was grateful for.

They babbled in turns, explaining that they were the ones who had brought him back and that they had briefly seen him earlier. There were hugs and thank you’s exchanged, but as he watched Spike could only wonder why they had brought him back to leave him buried alive and alone.

“I’m tired,” he said quickly when they started talking to him again, and they parted to let him out of the kitchen. He had been in Buffy’s room for a few moments only, his attention caught by pictures that weren’t quite right, when she came in after him and closed the door behind her.

“They didn’t mean to overwhelm you,” she offered with an apologetic smile. “They’re gone, now. Did you want to eat? Or would you rather sleep?”

“Sleep.”

She pulled the comforter back and they lay down together. Spike belatedly remembered the glasses and turned on his side to place them on the nightstand. Buffy took the opportunity and slid closer, until she was right behind him, her arm at his waist, and he barely had time to tell himself it was nice to be in her arms again before sleep took him.

The night and following day passed in a flash. He watched scenes happen to him as though he was a spectator rather than an active participant. He recognized the clothes Buffy found for him; they were those Joyce had bought him two years earlier, when he had been her guest for a few days. He had left them behind when he had left Revello, and now they were still there for him to wear. He had the bittersweet thought that the late Summers lady would have enjoyed seeing him like this, a human boyfriend for her daughter at last.

He overheard bits of conversation when the gang came by the house in the morning, but couldn’t make himself care about the visions that had apparently affected the Scoobies during the night. It was hard to care about much at all; his brain was still a little too foggy for that.

When night fell, it was as though instinct took over. He slipped on the duster he had found in Buffy’s room, never questioning why she had it; it felt like he was putting back on his old self. He was out of the door too fast for Buffy to say more than a word, but she caught up with him before he had even reached the street. She was worried, he could see that, but she didn’t try to stop him, merely threaded her arm through his. Spike let his feet guide him without thinking of where he was going, and was therefore a little surprised when they arrived in front of his crypt. He reached for the door before he knew what he was doing.

“I’ve been here a few times,” Buffy said softly as he looked around his old home, finding it as he had left it, if a bit more dusty. “I made sure no one took it over.”

He wanted to ask her why she had done that, but she didn’t leave him time.

“I didn’t break my promise, you know,” she murmured. He turned back to look at her, unsure what she meant. “I held on to it, like you did yours. I quit slaying.”

In the time of a blink, he remembered her words, hours before the battle; how she would stop it all if anyone died. And he had died, hadn’t he? He was startled out of the memory by the rising tears in her voice, and focused on her again, slowly stepping closer.

“You died and I quit slaying. Because you died so I could live and I tried, I swear I really tried to live like a normal person. But you weren’t there and it was so hard to live at all.”

The last words were muffled sobs against his chest, and Spike ran a soothing hand through Buffy’s hair and down her back, unsure what to say to make things any better, any easier for her when he was so confused himself.

*****

_  
Yeah, really can’t say my mind was too clear all that time, but it eventually cleared up and I managed to get settled after a while. Nothing like a close call with death to make you appreciate life._

_When they brought me back, the spell created a demon that haunted all of us. Apparently, it had to kill me to be able to endure. It tried. I didn’t get a chance to even take a swing at it. It caught up with Buffy and me just as we had returned to Revello, and she dealt with it, leaving me to watch and try not to believe that thing when it repeated that I didn’t belong there, that I ought to have been in hell._

_My second night back to life wasn’t so good after that, if you can believe it. I kept my eyes closed and pretended to sleep, mostly because I knew Buffy was awake too and I needed some time to think, and try to figure things out for myself. Safe to say that it took me a bit longer than one night._

_The next day was just as peculiar, if in a completely different way. I watched Buffy prepare a lunch bag for Dawn. It was so domestic and so strange… it reminded me of the demon’s words, of it saying I didn’t belong. That was how I felt. I’d seen them do normal, day-to-day stuff before, hell, I had even played house myself once or twice, but it had only been that and nothing more. A game. A façade I, the good vamp, was assuming to blend in with my human lover and her family. Now, I realized, it wasn’t a façade anymore. It was what my life was. Normal, day-to-day stuff._

_Normal, except for the fact that I lived with a Slayer, a Key whom we weren’t sure was still active, and had a pair of powerful witches and an ex vengeance demon for friends. And Harris._

_We went to the Magic Box, after Dawn had left. Buffy wanted to talk to the gang, and I could tell she didn’t want me to stay alone._

_She told them she’d start patrolling again, now that the ‘bot was destroyed. Just the day before she had told me she had wanted to live a normal life, but there she was back in the fighting arena. Why? Because, as she explained to them, to me, she felt like she owed it to them, as a thank you of sorts for bringing me back. For pulling me out of hell._

_There was some kind of general hugging and sniffling moment, and I slipped out through the back door. Not a fan of all that mush. For the first time since I had crawled out of my grave, I craved a cigarette. Or ten. Or a good drink. Anything at all to calm my nerves and shaking hands. Sad thing was, I didn’t have a penny to my name. And human reflexes are a tad too lousy for my old sticky fingers games. In other words, I was screwed._

_It didn’t take long before Buffy followed me into the back alley. It’s even surprising at all that she had left me out of her sight for even a minute._

_We talked. Small talk, nothing important. Babbling._

_Then… then she asked about it, and I tried to tell her._

_I really tried. Really meant to. I swear I did._

_But she was so happy to have me back. So fucking grateful to her friends for having pulled me out of hell._

_I couldn’t hurt her like that. There was no reason for me to do it. So I just hugged her, tried to lose myself in her warmth, her softness, and I kept quiet._


	4. Know When To Fight

“Are you sure you know how to do that?”

Despite her best intentions, there was an edge of dread in Buffy’s voice that even she could hear, and of course, Spike noticed it. Abandoning the pipe he was tightening, he turned back to her, a flash of exasperation disappearing into a smooth if slightly hurt smile.

“Told you, luv. I did all the piping job in the crypt by myself.”

She tried to make a joke out of her answer, but in truth, she wasn’t very convinced. She understood that he wanted to help and play the manly part; she had no problem with that. On the contrary, she was rather happy to see him taking an interest in something when for the past few days since his return he had been, for the most part, letting things happen without acting on them. Still, the plumbing in the crypt had not exactly left a lasting impression in her mind.

“Spike, your shower was a pipe sticking out of a wall that would either trickle or be at full blast. This is…”

“Even easier than that,” he cut in, returning his eyes and hands to the job. “Just a little leak, all I need is to tighten this part and… there you go!”

With a triumphant smile, he looked back at her, pointing at his handiwork with the wrench.

“See? Told you I could do it. And that’s not the only thing I can…”

A loud and ominous groaning of the pipes all around the basement interrupted him; they had the time to exchange a puzzled look before the first spray of water burst out. It was followed by too many others to count.

“I can fix it!” Spike immediately claimed and attacked the closest water leak with both wrench and unintelligible invectives. Buffy watched him work for a moment, worrying at her bottom lip. This was _so_ not good. It was obvious that Spike wasn’t going to fix the mess, however hard he tried. That meant calling a professional. And that meant more money, when there really wasn’t much left in the bank. The check for her tuition had just cleared and she had been wondering how long three people could live on what was left of her mom’s life insurance. Not long, and probably even less once she paid a plumber to repair the mess. Finding money, and quickly, was now imperative.

*****

Twenty-four hours, five banks, five refused loans, and one foiled demon robbery later, Buffy wasn’t any closer to having a solution. She had tried to keep from Dawn how bad the situation was; there was no need to worry her. Spike however seemed to see right through her.

“It’s that bad?”

Refusing to let his words distract her, she continued pummeling the punching bag. She had barely stopped by the house to change before coming to the store for a workout and had been letting out her frustration for half an hour already. At first Spike had simply watched her, but slowly he had approached and was now standing just behind the bag.

“Of course not,” she answered, lying so badly she knew she wouldn’t fool him. “I’m just upset that demon got away. I really need to get in shape.”

To her surprise, Spike didn’t call her on the lie. Instead, he caught the bag and stabilized it as she kept punching.

“Actually, since you’re talking about that… How ‘bout we start sparring again like we used to?”

Instantly, she stopped what she was doing and dropped her arms. The look of determination on his face was rather nice to witness after his general indifference of the past days, but it made things just that much more complicated.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” she started cautiously, and internally winced when Spike’s expression closed off. “I mean, you’re not in your top form and…”

“And that’s exactly the point,” he interjected. “I haven’t forgotten how to fight, I just need a bit of practice, and to get used to my new… limitations.”

“But you’re still recovering,” she insisted. “You can’t even…”

The words remained caught in her throat as she realized that mentioning Spike’s lack of enthusiasm in bed might not be the best way to appease him. It seemed too late, however; judging by the sudden flush in his cheeks and hardening of his jaw, he knew exactly what she had been about to say.

The truth was, nothing had happened since his return beyond a few kisses and some mild cuddling, most of it initiated by Buffy. She was trying to be an understanding girlfriend; after all, only a week earlier Spike had been dead and she shuddered to think of where he had been. However, that didn’t prevent her from being a horny girlfriend now that he was back.

“Forget it,” he said blankly. “I’ll train by myself.”

Head high and fists closed tight, he walked out of the room and into the store, leaving Buffy to watch him and swallow her apology. She thought about following him, but gave up on the idea for now; better to do it when there wouldn’t be extra ears to listen. Without enthusiasm, she turned back to the punching bag and resumed her training. Her anger from earlier had disappeared, leaving only tiredness and confusion in its wake.

She hadn’t really believed that Spike coming back to her, to life, would signify an end to her problems. She just hadn’t expected that it would make things any more difficult.

*****

As soon as he stepped into the store, Spike regretted it. He should have gone the other way, out into the alley rather than back where the Scoobies were assembled and, as usual, looking at him as though still not really believing he was there. But going outside at this hour would have meant the sun, and he still hadn’t become more used to that. Not used, either, to the weight of the glasses on his nose or the dark haired reflection that glanced at him when he passed by a glass display. Not used to hearing Buffy complain about their time in bed. Because, even though she hadn’t finished, her thought had been quite clear. And it irked him even more that it was true.

Getting back to life had not been the piece of cake it had been the first time. A century earlier, he had plunged into his new existence without a look back and savored every new experience offered to him. But now, after almost a week, he was still struggling to find his footing. Days passed and he kept expecting things to return to normal, as they had that one time when he had been split into two distinct entities. But it was slowly sinking in that there would be no quick spell-fix, this time.

For one thing, Willow seemed awfully proud of her work, probably too much to realize she had forgotten part of him when bringing him back. For the other, Buffy seemed quite content with a human boyfriend. A bit overprotective, but she hadn’t referred a single time to what his old self used to be able to do, whereas it was all he could think of. If he could only relearn how to fight with this body well enough to help Buffy on patrol rather than trail after her like a puppy she needed to protect…

Giles’ arrival wasn’t a surprise; Spike had been there when Buffy had called him and asked him to be her Watcher again. It didn’t make hearing her ask him to train her any easier, especially after she had refused to train with Spike earlier. At least it gave Spike an idea.

After they had returned to Revello, Giles in tow, Spike managed to corner him in the kitchen while Buffy was preparing her mother’s room for him.

“I want you to help me train,” he asked without preamble, and Giles looked at him over his cup of tea with undisguised curiosity.

“Train?” he repeated. “Train for what?”

Spike rolled his eyes at him. “Fight, what else? I remember the moves but this body can’t do everything I used to be able to do.”

Giles took a slow sip and Spike could almost hear the wheels turning in his head.

“I assume you ask me because Buffy won’t do it?” he said at last. Spike felt his jaw tighten but he did not answer. Giles nodded thoughtfully, though it didn’t look like an agreement. “You’ve patrolled with her for years, I suppose it must be hard not to continue now. But I can see why she wouldn’t want you to take risks. She lost you once…”

“I’m not asking you for a thesis about it,” Spike interrupted him. “A yes or a no will suffice.”

Giles sighed.

“Suppose I do train you. What happens when you get hurt? I don’t need to remind you your healing won’t be the same as it once was, do I?”

“That never stopped you. Or Harris. Or Willow. Why do you think it’d stop me?”

There was a pleading note that Spike didn’t like much in his own voice, but Giles seemed to be mellowing.

“I _need_ to do something,” he insisted. “I can’t just watch her fight.”

Steps on the staircase announced Buffy’s return; Giles nodded, once, and had just the time to say he would do it before Buffy entered the kitchen. Spike gave him a thankful smile before stepping out on the back porch. He and Buffy needed to talk, but it could wait until Giles went to bed.

Sitting on the steps, he only half listened to the conversation inside, small talk as Buffy and Giles discussed training, money and spells that could have gone wrong. When he had told Giles he needed to do something, the realization had come to him that the need went beyond patrolling and fighting with her. He needed to be useful, to have a purpose. Maybe then he would know again what his place was in the world.

“You heard that, didn’t you?”

Her words were soft, but they still startled Spike when Buffy came out to sit next to him. Lost in his thoughts, he hadn’t noticed the door opening.

“He didn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you,” she continued when he didn’t answer. “Just that it was a really big spell Willow did and it could have turned out wrong. But it didn’t, so there’s nothing to be upset about, right?”

He turned to face her and could tell that she was tense, more so than her conversation with Giles should have warranted.

“I didn’t mean to imply there’s anything wrong with you either,” she mumbled when he was still silent. “I understand it’s not easy, with all that happened to you, and I can be patient. Really. I just want you to be all right, you know.”

His throat was too tight for words, and Spike merely nodded. Without thinking, he reached push a strand of hair behind her ear and she leaned into his touch, making his fingers tingle and his heart beat a trifle faster.

“It’s getting easier,” he lied. “I’m getting used to it all, it’s just taking time.”

“I can be patient,” she repeated as she slid closer to him and rested her cheek on his shoulder.

“Maybe if I had something to do,” he murmured, his fingers playing with a strand of her hair. “Occupy my mind, not feel so useless…”

“You’re _not_ useless,” she said strongly, pulling back so that she could look at him. “You’re anything but useless.”

It was hard to believe her, especially when he couldn’t think of one single worthwhile thing he had done since coming back.

“Just let me help you,” he pleaded, and wished he could have found the words to express how important it was for him.

*****

_I think I jinxed myself when I told her I wanted to help. Because just as the words passed my lips, there was a loud noise inside and shouts. We both rushed in; she took care of the demon while I watched and tried, mostly, not to stand in her way. That was the easy part. After that came fixing and cleaning. I’ve got to admit I’m much better at breaking stuff than I am at repairing, and even liberal amounts of strong glue were not enough to repair the vase I tried to save. The rest of the gang had little more success the next morning when they came by to try and help._

_We didn’t know it at the time, but the bank robbery and the attack of the demon on Revello were our first contacts with the trio of bloody wankers that was about to make our lives just that much more complicated. They were human, like me. I could have helped kicking their sorry arses back to the geekdom they belonged in. Of course, that would have been too easy, and…_

_And you don’t want me to start in on that ground so soon, do you?_

_Right._

_Anyway. The decorating of the Summers living-room in a brand new minimalist style did one positive thing. It made me want even more to work and help Buffy with the growing pile of bills. There was a slight problem however as I soon realized. Legally, I didn’t exist. I needed ID documents, a driving license, a social security number, all these little bits that allow humans to belong to their society, and about which vampires usually don’t give a damn. It had always been easy enough to steal what I needed, or kill to get it. Not anymore, of course._

_So, I needed papers. I didn’t have to think very long to come up with a way to get them._

_And the Angel-taunting I had in mind? Always a bonus._


	5. Not What He Expected

“Angel.”

Buffy could have sworn Spike barely suppressed a sigh. “Yes, pet. Angel.”

Her eyebrows still halfway up to the ceiling, she considered Spike as he continued to dress and tried to understand. She failed miserably.

“I don’t get it. You’re going to see Angel why exactly?”

As far as she knew, he and Angel couldn’t stand each other. Angel’s grief upon learning of Spike’s death had been the only hint she had ever witnessed that Angel cared about Spike at all.

Or was it? The three-year-old memory of Spike lying feverish and delirious on his bed resurfaced, unbidden, and accompanied by that of Angel at his side, taking care of him. She had gone out to find a cure for Spike, but Angel had stayed there and had fed him his own blood. And even before that, Spike had been the one to insist about giving his soul back to Angelus, this time permanently. Maybe she was wrong when thinking they had nothing but contempt for each other. But that still didn’t explain why Spike wanted to go see Angel now.

“Because he supposedly helps the hopeless,” Spike smirked. “No better way to describe me, is there?”

Despite his smile, there was a hint of bitterness behind his words and Buffy felt her chest constrict. She wanted him fine, happy, comfortable in his new life, and she could see he wasn’t any of these things, but she didn’t know what to do to help him.

“Don’t say that,” she demanded as she stepped closer and pulled him into a hug. “You’re not hopeless. Why would you think you are?”

For an instant, he was tense against her, as he had been all too often recently, but he soon returned the hug and placed a kiss to her forehead.

“Maybe not hopeless,” he conceded. “But definitely paperless. And I think he can help with that.”

It seemed to Buffy that the more Spike explained, the less she understood.

“Papers? What kind of papers?”

Finally, he started making sense as he explained he needed to legally exist so that he could find a job. When she questioned him further, he grudgingly admitted he wanted a job so that he could help with the bills and feel like he was doing something useful. Buffy wasn’t sure whether to smile or sob.

“I’ll come with you,” she offered immediately. “We can take the bus and be there by noon.”

He tisked as he put on his duster. The effect – big bad attitude with geek glasses – never failed to leave Buffy somewhat bemused.

“You’ve got classes today, luv. Don’t tell me you have forgotten.”

In truth, she had, but who could blame her with everything that had happened in the last couple of days.

“I’ll take the car,” he continued. “If I’m lucky, I’ll be back tonight.”

She frowned at that and followed him out of the room.

“You mean mom’s car? You can’t drive it, it’s not insured.” On his questioning look, she explained: “Neither me nor Dawn can drive it, so it felt like a waste of money. I’ve been thinking about selling it and… I guess I’ll have to, now. At least it will pay the plumber.”

“I’ll make sure not to have an accident, then,” was Spike’s answer, accompanied with a large smile that spelled quite clearly the matter was settled as far as he was concerned. Buffy should have known better, but she caved in and gave him the key. This, at least, she could do for him.

*****

Despite his promise to Buffy, Spike might have driven a tad too fast on his way to Los Angeles, impatient to see Angel’s face once he realized there was one heartbeat too many in the room. It promised to be a riot, and Spike could have done with a good laugh. And if he had any luck left, Angel might help him with more than the papers; then again, it was Angel, brooder extraordinaire and thickest head on this side of the Hellmouth, so maybe he ought not to have expected too much.

What Spike had definitely not expected however was that, when he entered the Hyperion lobby, the world would seem to stand still. Not only did Angel stare at him as though he were seeing a ghost, but so did Cordelia and the ex-Watcher. As for the last two people there, a nerdish looking girl and a tall man who looked very much like a fighter, they alternated glances between Spike and the frozen three, obviously puzzled.

“Huh… guys?” the fighter finally said. “Vision? People needing our help? Now?”

Immediately, Cordelia and Wesley seemed to wake up. Spike paid no attention to their rushed babble as the group made its way out, but deigned to answer with a smile at Cordelia’s incredulous whisper of his name as she stopped by him. Of all things, she poked his arm with a finger, shrugging when he glared at her and letting out a “Just checking” before she left with the others.

Finally alone with Angel, Spike felt the smile creep back up on his face. Angel’s wide, disbelieving eyes were as entertaining as he had imagined them.

“Come on, Peaches,” he said at last, barely keeping a laugh at bay. “Say something. I’ve spent two hours on the road to hear some incoherent sputtering.”

At last, Angel moved, taking a few steps toward Spike. “William?”

Spike’s good mood took a blow, but he tried not to let it show. “Still going by Spike.”

“Buffy said you were dead,” Angel said after shaking his head. “What happened? What’s up with the hair? And why are you wearing gla…”

Spike grimaced at the reminder of his human attributes, regretting once more not being able to afford contact lenses and having let Buffy talk him out of cutting and bleaching his hair, but the defensive retort he had been about to utter died on his lips when he realized something. Angel’s shock, so far, had been due to simply seeing Spike in front of him when he had thought him dust. Now that he was closer, Angel had clearly noticed that something else was up; his eyes seemed ready to pop out. When he reached out and pressed his palm to Spike’s chest, right above his heart, Spike let him and grinned.

“Tick, tock,” he said in a singsong voice. “Regular as a clock. Can you hear it tick?”

The fun ended there however as Angel snatched his hand back and, turning his back on Spike, walked away without a word. Spike followed him into an office, and watched as he downed, in one long gulp, almost half a bottle of scotch.

“Hey, you could share, wanker,” Spike protested as he plopped himself down in a chair and threw his feet up on the desk in front of him.

Angel merely looked at him blankly. “How?” he asked as he sat down, but did not give Spike time to answer. “How did this happen? I was the one supposed to Shanshu. Me. You didn’t even have a soul anymore!”

Frowning, Spike tried to understand what Angel was rambling on about. “Chan chew? What the hell are you talking about, now? You’re not making any sense.”

With a snort, Angel gestured toward Spike with the bottle he still hadn’t let go of before taking another long gulp. “Sense? Like the Powers That Be giving you your life back makes any sense? I get the guilt and the hard choices and centuries in hell and no end to the fight anywhere in sight, and you… you they make human. I knew they had a fucked up sense of humor, but this, this is…”

Apparently unable to decide what _this_ was, Angel shook his head, now grumbling inaudibly.

“The Powers…” Spike still wasn’t sure what Angel was on about, but he had a feeling that explaining his return to life might clear things up. Not that Angel being upset wasn’t fun to watch, but Spike was there for a reason and maybe not aggravating him more than necessary might be a good idea. “ _Willow_ brought me back. Magic spell and what not. Not any Powers or whatever else you’re thinking.”

Angel’s scowl disappeared almost instantly, replaced by confusion. “Willow?” he repeated, as though unsure he had heard right.

“Willow,” Spike confirmed. “Remember her? Redhead? Gave you back your soul with no loophole attached? Likes to mess with magic too much for her own good?”

Unexpectedly, Angel’s face split into a huge, relieved, almost sheepish grin. “Welcome back!” he laughed, and threw the bottle at Spike who, surprised beyond words, almost didn’t catch it in time. As he took a deep, burning swallow of liquor, Spike could only reflect that so far, his little trip hadn’t gone much as he had planned.

*****

_It took me a long time to finally get what happened that day._

_The Shanshu thing, I could understand easily enough. Angel had been promised a piece of candy, he was understandably wary of me stealing it from him. No, not wary. Livid with jealousy. It’s a wonder he didn’t start stomping his feet and whining about how unfair the world was. After all, I had already taken his girl. Yeah, I know, only after they had broken up, but what can I say, I still like to think that I had a small role in sending the ‘Angel and Buffy forever’ ship down to the bottom of the ocean. Sue me._

_What I didn’t understand, not for the longest time, was why Angel was so happy once he was certain I hadn’t taken his Shanshu. So happy for me. I figured it out, eventually. It took a few months and one hell of a yelling match with him, but I finally got it. It didn’t help either of us then, but it was nice to understand at last._

_For him, the Shanshu, becoming human, was the ultimate reward. It was the shining prize at the end of a long redemption road. The reason why he fought, night after night, even when it didn’t seem to change anything. And so, he was happy for me, happy that I would get to live the life that had been taken away from me a century earlier, more or less directly by his fault._

_Thing was, being human wasn’t a recompense as far as I was concerned. It wasn’t something I had ever really wanted. In truth, I had never given it much thought, not beyond wondering, now and then, whether Buffy would have wanted me to be human. I never did anything in the hope of getting a pulse as a reward. Or even in the hope of getting any reward._

_I patrolled with my Slayer because that was one way to be with her, and because if I was there, I could try to keep her safe. I jumped from the tower because I knew if I didn’t she would have died, either by jumping herself to close the portal, or by fighting too many demons. At no point during all of that did redeeming myself or earning favors from whatever Powers there are become relevant. Earning favors from her, on the other hand…_

_So, when I did become human, when I woke up with a heartbeat I didn’t know what to do with, I wasn’t particularly happy. Not unhappy either, not completely, not as long as Buffy was there, but not as excited about it as Angel was._

_Being human wasn’t a reward. At best, it was unexpected. At worst…_

_Yeah, I know, too much too soon. Shutting up, now._

_What do you mean, I can’t shut up? Of course, I can…_

_Oh. You want me to tell them about that now? It’s not like there’s much to say, but if you insist…_

_Right. Angel being happy for me? Can we say freaky? Yeah, thought so. I changed the subject when I realized all I was going to get from him were more congratulations and comments on how lucky I was, and told him why I had come to him. That sobered him up pretty quickly. At first, he started saying that he couldn’t help, that providing false papers to ex-demons wasn’t exactly what his team and he specialized in, but I played the guilt card and he caved in._

_Yes, I am shameless. You have a problem with it? What’s the point of being related to him if I can’t call in family favors when I need them?_

_He gave a few phone calls, and eventually accompanied me to a small backroom, dark and rather filthy, where a demon that didn’t come any higher than my waist took my picture, and asked me for a name and date of birth. I hadn’t really given it much thought, and before I knew it I gave him my old human name and birthday. He snickered a little at the year, and changed it to something a bit more believable. I could feel Angel’s eyes on me, as I watched Shorty work at filling authentic looking documents with my new life, but I refused to look back at him. Yes, I had used a name I had thought long forgotten. So what? It was my mistake, I should have thought of something before being asked the question. Maybe I hadn’t believed it would all go so fast._

_I didn’t see any exchange of money, but Shorty and Angel did spent some time talking in hushed tones before we finally left. I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to know. All that mattered was that I now had a birth certificate and driver’s license, which, Shorty had promised, would be confirmed as valid if the police ever controlled me._

_Thanking Angel proved harder than I had thought it would be, especially since he was still so excited about me being human. I think part of me had expected him to understand. He had been human, too, briefly, and had chosen to erase that incident so that he could keep fighting. But he didn’t make the connection, or if he did, he didn’t mention it, and I left LA just as hopeless as I had been when arriving._

_Yeah, I know, I’m rather pathetic as a human.  
_


	6. Offers

With a sigh of relief, Buffy responded to the sound of a car parking in the driveway in the early evening. Immediately rushing to the door, she was pleased to see that it was indeed Spike; pleased, also, that the car didn’t look any worse for wear. She had seen Spike drive, and somehow she doubted that his newfound mortality would make his driving any safer.

She tried to question him about his trip to Los Angeles, asking without really saying the words, and wondering how Angel had taken the news of his return, but Spike was particularly obtuse even for him and managed to evade answering. He did show her his brand new driver’s license however.

“See? Now I really exist.”

She fought the urge to roll her eyes at his dramatic tone and instead read the name printed on the card aloud.

“William Pratt. Is that your real name? I mean, your real, real name?”

There was a strange gleam in his eyes as he took the card back. “Name’s Spike, luv. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten already. I wasn’t gone that long.”

“Of course not, I just…” Sighing, she let that particular battle go. If he had wanted to tell her, he would have, and there were things _she_ wanted to tell _him_. She started with the strange day she had had, with time playing tricks on her on campus, and was slightly disappointed when he looked as skeptical as the gang had been when she had told them.

“Maybe you were a bit overwhelmed after missing classes for the past week,” he suggested, and she had to bite the inside of her cheek not to start ranting about how he, at least, ought to have believed her.

“Maybe,” she repeated, unconvinced, and decided to change the subject. “I mentioned to the gang about how you wanted to find a job and Xander said he might have something for you.”

Again, his lack of reaction was frustrating, and again she fought herself not to show it.

“I told him you’d call him when you’d be back, so he can tell you what’s what and you can decide if you’re interested.”

“Working with Harris. I can’t wait.” His voice barely hid the sarcasm and it was the last straw. Buffy had had a long day, despite the lost hours from her fast-forward freakish experience, and the last thing she needed right then was for Spike’s moods to take her even lower.

“I’m off to patrol,” she announced shortly.

“I’m coming,” he predictably answered, and this time she put her foot down. She had let him tag along so far, but if all he had to offer was sarcastic comments, she wasn’t interested.

“You’ve got to call Xander,” she reminded him. “And I’d rather you stay home anyway. I’ll be back early.”

“Slayer…”

But she refused to listen and was out of the house before he had started to protest. She almost expected him to catch up with her, as she walked briskly toward her first graveyard of the night; he didn’t. And when she returned home, later than she had anticipated, he was already in bed, sleeping or at least pretending to, his back firmly to her.

By morning, her bad mood had faded away and she was ready to apologize for being so abrupt with him the previous night, but he rushed off before she could say a thing; Xander was waiting for him in the driveway.

Feeling a little guilty – after all Spike was adjusting as well as could be expected from someone who had been dead for the past five months and a demon a hundred years before that – she sent Dawn off to school and went to her own classes. She was distracted all morning long, and earned herself a few reproachful looks from her professors. By noon, she had had enough. She needed to talk to Spike, just to make sure everything was fine between them despite the silent argument of the previous night. They had fought often enough, since becoming a couple, but it was the first time it had happened since his return, and Buffy felt a little jittery when she stepped onto the construction site.

Things could hardly have gone any worse.

She had just caught sight of him when demons came out of nowhere and attacked her. She dealt with them, of course, despite the presence of a couple of workers who shrieked like babies and the intervention of Spike who had noticed the fight but was more a hindrance than a help when he tried to give her a hand. Once the demons had melted away, leaving nothing behind but a wrecked site, the site’s supervisor arrived and demanded an explanation to a civilian’s presence on the site and the state of demolition around him.

Seconds later, Spike was fired.

He walked away alone and disappeared past a black van while Buffy tried to explain first to the supervisor then to Xander what had happened, without much luck in either case. Xander seemed to believe her, at least, but there wasn’t much he could do for Spike.

Spike didn’t reappear until long after nightfall; by that time, Buffy was worried out of her mind, and it had been a pain to convince Dawn that everything was fine, Spike was just out with Xander, and there was no reason to worry.

She practically jumped on him when he walked through the front door, babbling about how unfair it was that he had been fired and promising that he would find something else. Then she recognized the scent that was coming off him, noticed how bright his eyes were, how wobbly he seemed to be, and the worry changed instantly into irritation.

“You really think things will get better if you’re drunk?”

“’M not drunk,” he grinned at her. “Takes a lot more than what I ‘ad for me to get drunk.”

“Spike…”

His grin disappeared as soon as it had appeared. “And what ‘f ‘m drunk?” he demanded. “Used to do that all the time. ‘T never killed me.”

“It _couldn’t_ kill you,” she pointed out with a roll of her eyes. “But I bet you’re _so_ going to regret this in the morning.”

He batted his hand, as though dismissing her argument. “’M fine. No worry. And look, ’ve got a prezzie for you an’ the bit.”

With that, he pulled out an adorable ball of fur from the inside of his partially unbuttoned shirt. The kitten looked at her with eyes as large as Spike’s and let out a pitiful meow, and Buffy melted.

*****

As much as it pained Spike to admit it, he had to concede, when morning came, that Buffy had been right. His tolerance to alcohol had taken a sharp hit, and his now human constitution made him pay a sharp price for a few hours of sweet oblivion. Head pounding despite the liberal amounts of aspirin he had ingested, he spent a good part of his day lying down on the sofa, soap operas playing – quietly – on the telly, a wet rag on his forehead and a purring kitten on his chest. The sound was soothing, as were the tiny licks bestowed to Spike’s fingers; and although he couldn’t bear the idea of eating anything himself, he consented to a trip to the kitchen to find milk for the still unnamed animal.

His playmate was viciously taken from him amidst a concert of excited exclamations seconds after Dawn returned from school, and Spike was left alone to ponder life, jobs, and hangovers. He seemed to remember Buffy telling him something about a job when they had woken up that morning, but it took him a long time to make sense of it all and remember the details. When he finally did, he decided that a bit of fresh air might help his hangover condition. And he could drop by the Magic Box and see how Buffy was doing on her first day. See if she was still mad at him, too.

It appeared that she was not doing so well, and the verdict on how upset with him she was remained reserved.

Just as Spike was reaching the store, Buffy walked out – no, stormed out, he reflected with mild surprise. She seemed almost startled to see him there; she always seemed startled to see him in the sun.

“Afternoon, luv. Taking a break?”

She let out a small snort. “A break, yes. One of the definitive kind.”

He gave her a sympathetic half smile. “That bad?”

“Worse. I’ll tell you about it but… later, OK?” Her tone took a slight pleading note. “I need some time alone.”

A little voice in Spike’s head murmured that, once upon a time, she would have come straight to him to tell him about her miseries and get some comfort. It stung that she now would rather be alone, but he fought not to show he was hurt.

“Sure. Whatever you wish. I’ll just…” He gestured to the shop behind her. Pummeling a punching bag felt awfully appealing at that moment, but he had a feeling she might not want to hear that. “… have a cuppa with Giles or something.”

With a small smile, she leaned up and softly pressed her lips to his and then left. Spike watched her walk down the street until she had disappeared, barely suppressing the urge to go after her. With a shake of his head, he finally entered the shop.

“… didn’t,” Anya was saying quite determinedly to Giles. Arms crossed and eyes flashing, she was the image of indignation. “I was supportive and it’s not my fault if she’s not made for retail.”

Giles apparently took Spike’s arrival as an excuse to stop the discussion, and he turned toward him with noticeable relief.

“Spike. Were you looking for Buffy?” he asked. “She just left.”

Spike nodded as he looked around, somewhat surprised that the store wasn’t in shambles; he had expected as much after witnessing Buffy’s escape.

“Yeah, saw her. It didn’t work out, huh?”

Giles’s mouth opened, but Anya was faster. “She didn’t charge a customer for delivery, and she stalked off in a huff when I told her we’d have to take it out of her wages.”

With that, she went off to stalk a customer who had just entered the store. Giles sighed and motioned Spike to follow him.

“She was doing quite well, actually,” he commented when they had taken place at the research table. “I don’t know what set her off.”

He seemed to be expecting Spike to offer an explanation, but Spike had nothing to tell the Watcher that he didn’t already know.

“Maybe it was the stress of the last couple of days?” he suggested with a shrug. “With what happened to her on campus and the demons at the site…”

He trailed off at that, grimacing and wishing despite the remaining of his headache that he could drown the memory in a glass or two of whiskey.

“Maybe,” Giles acquiesced and picked up one of the many books on the table. “I’ve been researching what could have happened to her, but I haven’t had much luck so far. I can’t seem to find a link between the events that occurred and…”

At that moment, he took his first real look at Spike, and concern was clear on his features as he took off his glasses.

“You look like hell,” he said bluntly, and Spike laughed.

“Thanks. Feel like it, too. I hadn’t had such a bad hangover in… ever, actually. Which is rather funny, when you think about it, seeing that there have been times when I literally had more alcohol than blood in my body.”

“I can empathize,” Giles smiled. “I’ve been in your place before.”

Tilting his head to one side, Spike smirked. “Yeah, I remember. Fine demon, you were, too. Must have been hard to let go of the horns.”

The look of pure confusion that crossed Giles’ features was priceless, but after a few seconds, he seemed to catch on. “Not that,” he rolled his eyes at Spike. “I meant, losing a job. Although you held yours for less than a day whereas I was a Watcher for a considerably longer time. I’m not sure which is worst.”

Spike didn’t reply; he didn’t have anything to say that wouldn’t start a pity party. Opening the closest book in front of him, he started idly flipping through the pages, aware that Giles’ eyes were still on him.

“Have you considered retail?” Giles abruptly asked after a few minutes, and Spike looked up at him, an eyebrow raised questioningly.

“You’re kidding me, right?”

It quickly became apparent, Giles was not joking. In between reminders to Anya that she might be in charge but he still had something to say about the way the store was run and comments about how working there would allow Spike greater access to the backroom if he still intended to train, he gave a slightly bemused Spike a crash course in retail and customer service.

And after Spike had, to his own surprise, sold a young woman three scented pillar candles and a quartz crystal when all she had wanted when stepping in the shop was a candle to use during power outages, even Anya grudgingly admitted that, maybe, it wasn’t such a bad idea for him to work at the Magic Box. Giles however wasn’t done with the unexpected offers.

“The Council knows about your return,” he informed Spike after Anya had shoed them out as she was closing the shop.

Spike nodded grimly. “Figured as much. Think they’re going to pop in and try to dissect me?”

By the serious look in Giles’ eyes, Spike almost believed that his lame joke might have hit a nerve. However, after a few seconds and some glasses polishing, Giles shook his head.

“I doubt it. They wouldn’t want to anger Buffy.”

Spike snorted, a wry reply already on his lips, but Giles continued without a pause.

“They are asking questions, however. After I was reinstated to my watcher functions, they asked me to… _prod_ you for any possible bit of information about vampires and vampires’ lore you might be amenable to offer.” On Spike’s frown, a corner of Giles’ mouth lifted. “You’ll have noticed that I did no such prodding.”

“I sense a ‘but’ coming,” Spike interjected.

“But,” Giles briefly inclined his head, “they are still interested in having information straight from the source. Your experience could be invaluable to the Council.”

Shaking his head in disbelief, Spike laughed. “Giles, you just gave me a job in the shop. Are you trying to recruit me as a Watcher, too?”

For a few seconds, Giles was silent. “I was asked to… suggest it to you,” he admitted. “If you considered it, the Council would be interested in having you on board. You already have the fighting skills; you just need to… refresh them. You’re good with research, when you forget to pretend you can’t read Latin and Greek. A few months in London to formalize your training would probably do the trick. And… well, I’m not getting any younger, and as fond as I am of Buffy, there will be a time when I need to step back and turn toward other interests.”

Spike managed to shake himself out of his shock enough to realize what Giles wasn’t saying.

“What’s the bird’s name?” he asked, hiding his confusion about the rest behind a smirk.

Giles smiled but did not answer the question. “Will you think about it?”

To his own amazement, Spike nodded, and, with a goodbye to Giles who was off to his hotel, walked away, deep in his thoughts.

It had been almost two years since that damned dream, but he still remembered it, clear as day. The First Slayer had promised him he would bite Buffy and die – and he had. The dream had also featured Giles introducing him into his circle of wankers. At the time, the thought had been hilarious to Spike that he might ever be a Watcher. After hearing Giles’ offer, however, he was almost – just almost – tempted. What better way to help his Slayer than to be her Watcher?

*****

_I did plan to think about it, as I had told Giles. After all, that damn dream had proved right in more than one way, so maybe being a Watcher was only one more thing that had been foretold to me. I would think about it, but not that night. I had other plans._

_If Buffy hadn’t fled the Magic Box so fast, I would have told her about the black van I had seen driving away as I approached the store, and I would have suggested investigating it. But since she had gone off by herself, I decided to see about it alone._

_I hit a couple of demon bars, asked questions, and got fewer answers than what I had hoped. What I did get however was plenty stares. Apparently, the news that I was now human had spread since my dive into the bottle, and I could see that more than a few demons were considering doing me bodily harm. After all, I had been a traitor to the demon world for three years, and I had more enemies than I had friends. What saved me, I think, was that I still had the same swagger, the same attitude, and my whole demeanor practically dared anyone to stand in my way. No one did, that time, but I realized that I would probably be better off not visiting demon bars until I was at the top of my form, such as it would be in my human body._

_My excursion wasn’t completely pointless, still. Because when I walked out, ready to go home, guess what was parked just across the street? Yup. The black van._

_I got closer, planning to investigate, and then… something… got out. It looked like a demon, big, red, winged. But what it said, the way it reacted to my pitiful blows, the fake puff of smoke in which it disappeared… all of it hinted that something was up. Problem was, since it ran away – literally – I never got to ask the questions I wanted answers for. Eventually, and it’s actually a pity it took us that long, we figured out who owned the van. Stupid wankers. I went home trying to remember the exact words the thing had used. Something about knowing all of Buffy’s weaknesses, and my own shortcomings as a human._

_To say that Buffy was upset when I got to Revello would be a gross understatement. She was coming out of the house just as I was getting there, and she was fuming._

_“Giles said you left the shop three hours ago. Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been?”_

_I knew, deep down, that she was worried because she loved me, but after her reproaches from the previous night, it was too much and I snapped back at her._

_“I’m not a child, Slayer. I don’t need a minder. And if I want to take a stroll, I bloody well am not going to ask for your permission.”_

_“A stroll. Sure. For three hours. And did your stroll happen to go through one of those dives that pass for bars around here? Or did you decide the graveyard was a nice place to get some fresh air?”_

_“What if I did?” I shot back, and stood straight and tall, looming over her and daring her the same way I had dared the demons earlier. She sighed and shook her head. I had won that round._

_“I was worried,” was all she said._

_“So was I. So I went to get information about your van.”_

_I drew her back inside, and told her about my ‘demon’ encounter. We sat in the kitchen and went over what had happened in the past couple of days, we made up theories on who the demon was, what it wanted, that sort of things. What we did not talk about was her over-protectiveness, and my need for her to trust that I could take care of myself._

_When the subject was closed, I gave her the check Giles had given me after we had discussed my work hours, and told her it was an advance on my future paychecks. The smile and gratitude on her face meant the world to me.  
_


	7. Missing

Any demon with an ounce of self-respect remained in his lair, on Halloween. So, why didn’t the rule apply to ex-demons, too?

Spike wouldn’t have minded staying home that day. He usually didn’t mind working at the store, it was quiet most of the time and the system he had worked out with Anya – he took care of the women, she attended to the men – was quite effective sales wise. But with a store so busy that all the Scoobies had been recruited into helping… yes, he would rather have been home than at the counter wearing a ridiculous magician costume that matched Giles’. Or maybe, being in the backroom would have been nice, working out and training. He usually arrived at the store early or stayed late after his shifts to train, and although he was feeling a bit more confident in his own strength, he was lucid enough to know he was still a far cry from the fighter he had once been.

Another sale rung, another smile, another happy customer…

“Giles? We’re almost out of wrapping paper. I’ll go grab some.”

Before his boss could reply, he had slipped out from behind the counter and rushed to the storeroom’s door. He noticed, on his way, the shiny round thing that disappeared into one of Dawn’s pockets, but he needed a break too much to say anything at that moment; making a mental note to talk to her later, he took a few steps down the staircase and sat down, realizing only then that he wasn’t alone.

“Hey luv.”

Buffy threw a smile at him from where she stood across the room, looking at jars on the wall.

“Hey you. Taking a break?”

“Thankfully so.”

“You wouldn’t happen to know where the mandrake roots are hiding?” she asked, sounding a little exasperated. “Anya sent me down here ten minutes ago and…”

Standing up, he went toward her and reached up for a jar on the shelf she had just been looking at. She beamed at him.

“My hero.”

He raised an eyebrow at that, but kept the wry reply that burned at his lips to himself. Instead, he asked her what he had been thinking of since he had seen that kid dressed up as a rather pitiful vampire.

“Feel like a bit of the rough and tumble?”

Buffy blinked a couple of times, and she blushed slightly as she looked around them.

“Here? I can’t say that’s what I had in mind for our first time since you came back, but God, yes!”

With that, she put down the mandrake jar on the shelf and threw her arms around his neck, pulling him down for a heated kiss. And while Spike quickly lost himself in the feel of her lips, he came back to his senses when she started opening his magician robes and reaching for the zipper of his pants. Stilling her hands with his, he took a step back.

“Buffy, luv, that’s not what I meant…”

The look of confusion – of loss, of disappointment – on her face twisted his heart and made him feel guiltier than ever. The feeling didn’t help his libido.

“I meant, we could patrol tonight. Together. Things will be slow, it might be nice. You and me?”

She blinked, and after a beat, shrugged lightly. “Oh. Yeah, I suppose. We’ll see.”

Grabbing the jar again, she quickly left him and returned upstairs. For a long moment, Spike stared at the door behind which she had disappeared, his mind blank but aching. When he finally returned to the counter, it was with a smile plastered on his face; he managed to play the game until closing time, and even looked suitably cheerful when Xander announced his and Anya’s engagement.

Inside, though, everything still hurt at the inevitable but still deeply painful realization that he was disappointing Buffy.

*****

Abandoning the party in the living room to get more ice cubes, Buffy left Purr to Dawn’s care. They had chosen the kitten’s name together, after a token protest from Spike, and the ball of fur was living up to its name. It reminded her, all too often, of how Spike used to purr for her, but she tried not to dwell on the memory.

As she stepped into the kitchen, she realized she was interrupting an apparently heated discussion between Willow and Tara.

“I just wish you’d stop and ask what other people think, Will. You’ve been rushing ahead not caring what…”

“It’s about Spike again, isn’t it? Because I didn’t tell you he would be…”

Willow noticed Buffy’s presence at that moment and stopped instantly. Tara turned to follow her gaze, and she blushed lightly after realizing their argument had had a witness.

“I was just getting some ice,” Buffy said quickly, unwilling to let them think she had been spying on them, but she couldn’t ignore what she had heard. “Is there something wrong with Spike?”

Willow’s eyes widened and she shook her head. “No! Of course not! Spike is just fine…” Tara let out a small snort, but Willow ignored it. “… there’s nothing to worry about.”

With that, she picked up a bowl of chips and left the kitchen. Buffy wanted nothing more than to believe her friend, but somehow she felt compelled to look at Tara questioningly. The girl sighed lightly. “He’s OK,” she confirmed Willow’s words. “It’s just… she didn’t tell us she was bringing him back human.”

Buffy frowned as she grabbed a tray of ice cube in the freezer. “What’s wrong with him being human?”

“It’s not… it’s the not telling that I’m concerned about. Willow…”

With another sigh, she stopped and considered Buffy for a few seconds. “It’s nothing,” she murmured. “Forget it.”

Before Buffy could say anything more, Tara slipped away to the living room, and Buffy was left to worry whether there truly was nothing wrong with Spike. Willow would have told her if the spell she had used to bring him back had had any ill effects, right? She wouldn’t hide something that important. But Tara had hinted that Willow was not telling everything…

Should she bring it up again, Buffy wondered as she brought the ice to the living room. Maybe if she insisted, Willow would tell her _something_ that explained Spike’s bouts of sullenness and withdrawal. Something that would explain, also, why she was the one to initiate just about every contact between them, and why, even though they had fooled around a little, they had done nothing yet that justified the contraceptive pills she had started taking every morning.

Distracted, she waved Dawn out to her friend’s for a slumber party before she had even realized what she was doing; her sudden peak of worry faded when she overheard the discussion now going on between Xander and Spike where they sat on the staircase, both of them nursing a beer.

“… a bit scary,” Xander was saying, “but in the good way, you know? Like, it’s a big step but I know it’s the right thing. You ever thought about it?”

“Thought ‘bout what?” Spike replied absently, sounding as though he hadn’t been paying attention.

“Proposing. Now that you’re human, it’d make sense…”

“And it wouldn’t have made sense before?” Spike interjected abruptly. “You think I love her any more because I’ve got a pulse?”

Sensing an imminent crisis, Buffy grabbed a bowl of chips and stepped toward them, but Spike hadn’t stopped talking and was now standing.

“I shared something with her that you’ll never have with your girl. Been closer to her than any human could ever…”

The pain in his voice when it trailed off mirrored the pang that Buffy felt at hearing him refer to their mating. Neither of them had mentioned it since his return, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he felt the same void she did, in the middle of her chest, where for a few hours a flame had burned, bright and warm, assuring her of his love. Judging by the look on his features when he turned toward the door and came face to face with her, he felt the loss too.

Without a word, he walked past her, picking up his duster by the door and stepping out, while Xander asked her what he had been talking about.

“It doesn’t matter now,” Buffy said quietly, and, leaving the chips to Xander, she followed Spike.

He was standing on the grass with his back to her and his head turned up to the sky. His hands seemed to be searching in vain for something in his pockets, and the gesture felt oddly familiar.

“He doesn’t know,” she murmured, coming up to him and encircling his waist from behind.

“Never told them, did you?” he replied, his voice blank of emotions.

“They wouldn’t have understood. How could I explain what it felt like to have half of me ripped away? They worried so much about me already, I didn’t want to give them another reason.”

“Must have been hard,” he whispered.

“It was hell. At least it felt like it, but I guess it was nothing as bad as what you... But you’re here, now, and…”

Without warning, he stepped out of the circle of her arms.

“I need a smoke. Going to go get some.”

For a space of a heartbeat, Buffy didn’t comprehend his words. There she was, baring her soul to him, and he answered by saying he wanted cigarettes?

“Smoking’s bad for you, remember?” she shot, irritated. “Human lungs. Human health.”

He half turned to her, and the cold stare he gave her sent a shiver down her spine. “I remember and I don’t bloody care. What are you going to do, stop me from buying them like you stop me from patrolling with you?”

Buffy’s mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out when, with a muffled curse, Spike turned his back on her and strode away. She had done it again. She had expressed her concern about cigarettes as she had with alcohol, probably sounding more like a mother than a girlfriend would, and he had taken it as badly as he had the first time. She had never been too happy about his bad habits before, but at least they couldn’t hurt a vampire. Was she supposed to say nothing and let him slowly destroy himself without a word now that he was human?

*****

_She thought it was the cigarettes that put me in such a bad mood?_

_She could hardly have been any more wrong._

_I mean, yeah, I didn’t appreciate the motherly act about smoking any more than I did the speech about drinking. But if anything, it was proof that she loved me, and I could have lived with that. And that, exactly, was the problem. Living._

_It had been several weeks, since they had brought me back. It should have been getting easier. I tried my best to let them all believe it was easier, that everything was fine. But it wasn’t fine. I wasn’t getting used to my reflection in the mirror, for more than one reason. I was lying to them, to her, to myself, and it ate at my guts every hour of every day. Like so many other humans, I was depressed. Pathetic, huh?_

_I think maybe if she had…_

_No. I don’t know. I’m not sure there was anything anyone could have done that would have changed what was going on in my head. I needed to find myself, find Spike again in a shell that resembled William too much for comfort, and I had to do that on my own, in my own time, in my own way._

_That’s in part what I was doing, that night, when I walked away from Revello. Trying to come to terms with the way our mating had ended, when it should have been forever. Trying to prove to myself that I hadn’t changed, that I was still a rebel, and that I would smoke one cigarette or even a hundred if I bloody felt like it, the consequences be damned._

_I ended up playing the White Hat._

_On my way to the closest convenience store, where I intended to take a chance and use old tricks to nick a pack of cigarettes or two, I came face to face with Dawn. She was with Janice, as she had said she would be, but they weren’t alone, and they weren’t in and safe. She was out, in the streets, walking way too close to a boy that looked like trouble. The way he looked at her, in itself, was trouble._

_She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw me, and the other three must have understood something was up because they all looked from me to her and waited for something to happen. She spoke first, and she sounded almost panicked._

_“You’re not going to tell Buffy, are you?”_

_“Don’t know, Bit. Depends if there’s anything to tell.”_

_The boy seemed to wake up then, and practically sneered at me._

_“Dawn? Who’s the jackass? Want me to get rid of…”_

_He never got to finish, because the ‘jackass’, who had already had a rather fucked up evening until then, caught him by the lapels of his jacket and pulled him up, almost clear of the ground._

_“There’s only one jackass here,” I spat at the boy, “and it sure as hell isn’t me.”_

_Yeah, I know. I was manhandling a kid. What can I say; I was in a bad mood. Of course, when he shoved me off him, it became clear that he wasn’t just a kid. Kids aren’t that strong._

_“Spike! Are you insane?” Dawn shrieked at that moment. She stepped closer to the boy again, put a hand on his arm as she glared at me. Can’t say I was too happy about that._

_“I might be insane,” I told her, “but at least I can still recognize a vamp when I see one.”_

_She understood what I was saying right away, thankfully, and practically leapt away from him. I could tell she didn’t really want to believe me however, and her eyes were pleading when she asked me if I was sure. She got her answer when the boy – the vamp – shifted to game face and lunged at me with a roar._

_I have to admit it. I wasn’t ready for him._

_The fight that transpired was one of the most pitiful I ever fought. No stake and no strength, all I had for me was a hundred plus years of experience in fighting whereas the kid was a fledgling and used brute force. In the background, Dawn and Janice were fighting the other boy – well, Dawn was, and Janice was screaming at the top of her lungs._

_It ended well almost by accident. The vamp I was fighting sent me flying into a mailbox; I picked up a piece of the broken pole and managed to stake him when he was gloating about how pathetic I was. The other vamp had his back on me. A year earlier, I would have given him a fair warning. That night, I didn’t take chances and staked him from behind._

_We walked a shaking Janice home with no more than a couple of words, but once Dawn and I were alone, it was different. She didn’t look at me when she asked, as she had earlier, if I would tell Buffy._

_“I suppose I ought to. You probably should be grounded, or at least get to listen to some kind of boring speech.”_

_“It’s not like I knew he was a vamp!” she protested._

_“Yeah. And you didn’t lie to your sister either, did you? And while we’re at it, you didn’t steal that bauble from the store.”_

_I watched her from the corner of my eye as I said the last part, and saw her come to a halt before starting to walk again._

_“It was…it was an accident,” she stammered. “I mean, I meant to put it back, and I forgot, but I totally will…”_

_“Tell you what, Bit,” I cut in, unable to listen to the terror rising in her voice. “You put it back, you put all of it back because you won’t make me believe it was the first time, and I won’t tell Buffy where you were tonight.”_

_Yes, I do realize I was making a big mistake with these few words. But at the time I didn’t know any better, and I was sure she had had the lesson scared into her. It’s not as if I ever raised a kid before.  
_


	8. Once More Aching

Buffy was a little surprised to discover the whole gang in the shop when she dropped by after school; it added to her feeling that something was going on. Then again, if the impromptu Broadway number she had done during the previous night’s patrol hadn’t clued her in, her literature professor and his TA singing – literally – the praises of late nineteenth century American poetry might have done the trick.

With a general hello to everyone, she went straight to Spike and leaned over the counter for a quick kiss. That brought some comment from Anya about what was appropriate in the workplace while Spike was on the clock, but Buffy figured that they had endured enough blunt statements from Anya over the past years to disregard her objections over a very chaste, very quick kiss.

Then she turned back to the rest of the gang and hesitated. They were probably going to think she was crazy…

“So, did anybody... you know, did anybody recently, um ... burst into song?”

All eyes turned to her, and in the babbling frenzy that followed, she understood that the singing bug hadn’t bitten just her and her professor; all the Scoobies apparently had been too. All but one, and she looked at Spike curiously as he remained silent.

“What about you? Did I miss any singing while I was out?”

A wry smile curling his lips, he shook his head.

“Whatever’s going on, I’ve been immune to it. Did I miss your show? You didn’t mention it at home.”

Buffy had a feeling there was something he wasn’t saying, and she wondered what he possibly could have sung about that he didn’t want her to know. To be fair, she wasn’t so excited about telling him about her song either. She doubted he’d appreciate her resolve to keep him safe and sound and away from her patrols whether she sung it as a ballad melody or said it without frills.

“You were asleep,” she explained. “And this morning I had forgotten all about it until my literature professor started singing.”

Looking back to the rest of the group as she leaned against the counter, she was about to ask Giles what could cause it when he started singing. Within seconds, they had all joined in, even Spike despite his proclaimed immunity, and it didn’t matter anymore why it was happening; they would face it together, as they always did. They would research, they would find what was happening, and then she would slay.

Alone.

*****

With a critical eye, Giles evaluated Spike’s posture as he landed one hit after the other on the punching bag Giles was holding. Spike had been training for a while already, and beads of sweat were forming on his forehead, unneeded proof that he was giving the exercise all he had. Unneeded proof, also, that he was human. The precision of his punches was good, but the way he squinted at the immobile target in front of him gave away his vision problem. As hard as it was to imagine him fighting with glasses on his nose – and Giles knew firsthand how tricky that could be – it was just as hard to imagine him squinting his way through the ordeal.

Spike knew of his limitation, however, they had already talked about it, and despite Spike’s reluctance at accepting more of Giles’ money, he had let Giles pay for an eye exam and contact lenses that would soon be ready. He had demanded that the money be repaid from his wages though, as he had that first check Giles had offered when he had started.

“You’re still letting your guard down on the right every so often,” Giles admonished. Spike’s frustration was obvious when he landed a heavier blow before stepping back, his body suddenly tense with annoyance.

“You asked for help and that’s what I’m giving,” Giles started pointing out, but Spike shook his head.

“I know. I’m not mad with you. Mad at myself. This is how I’ve fought for decades. Never mattered so far that I left openings, I was quick enough to avoid most blows, didn’t matter much if a couple got through.”

He stopped there, but Giles could easily hear the silent rest, could easily read it in the tension of Spike’s body as he turned away to retrieve his glasses and the towel on the sofa. He wasn’t as fast anymore, or at least not enough to evade the blows as easily, and what he couldn’t evade might land him in the hospital or worse.

“I don’t know what to tell you other than to keep training,” Giles sighed as he watched Spike pat his face dry with the towel. “You’ll never be what…”

“What’s going on, here?”

Before he turned toward the door and Buffy, Giles shared a look with Spike. Something in his eyes, in the determined set of his jaw told Giles that he was ready to defend himself and his decision to train. But Giles had known this particular battle would come, and even if he hadn’t looked forward to it, he hadn’t been afraid of it either.

“Exactly what it looks like, Buffy,” he responded as he faced her. “I would think you’ve gone through enough training sessions to recognize one.”

The irritation was plain on her face, in the way she crossed her arms as she stepped closer, and in her voice when she said: “So, was it all just a cover up?” Her eyes shifted toward Spike. “You’re not really working here, you just come to train?”

“I _am_ working,” Spike replied, his tone calmer than what Giles had expected. “And training. Usually not at the same time.”

“And usually not when I’m around, I guess.”

Her cold eyes returned to Giles, and his back tensed under her scrutiny.

“I thought you came back to be my Watcher, Giles.”

“I did, but that doesn’t mean I can’t give my help where it’s needed.”

“Spike doesn’t need…”

“I’m old enough to know what I need, Slayer,” Spike’s icy voice cut her in. “You’ve got a problem with me training, take it up with me, not Giles.”

“I’ve got a problems with lies. From both of you. And…”

The words came forth from Giles’ lips without his consent, and before he knew it, he was singing along to a slow melody, both Buffy and Spike watching him in silence.

_You're not ready for the truths I hide_  
You stopped listening, and I’m not your guide  
Maybe I started it when I kept quiet or lied  
But I...  
  
Even as he sang, Giles was torn. There were things Buffy needed to know, things he had kept inside for too long until they had festered into resentment and disappointment. But there were other things that she had no reason to ever know about, secrets that should have been his to take into the grave. Still, the song didn’t leave him a choice, and he could do little more than listen and observe Buffy’s reaction as he told her everything that had been on his mind for the past few months.

Ever since that day before the battle against Glory when he had spoken his mind and said what needed to be said about Dawn and the way to close the portal between dimensions if it were to open, something had been different in Buffy. Even if she hadn’t said a word about it since, he knew she had never forgiven him, and it weighed on him and his heart that she would hold this against him when he had only done what he had to do. Just as he had done what was required of him when killing Ben and with him Glory, knowing full well that Buffy wouldn’t understand. 

He had remained silent about that, just as he had kept quiet his disappointment and anger that she had abandoned her duties for months and put her friends in danger in the process. It had been somewhat understandable when she had done it at seventeen after battling Angelus, but she was an adult, now, and although her grief had been deep, she shouldn’t have let it take over everything she was. Added to the need to keep training Spike a secret, it was too many things he had kept from her recently, and he had a feeling that he wasn’t helping her grow up by keeping quiet, quite the contrary in fact. Maybe it was time for him to stop protecting her by hiding all the little, and not so little, things that could hurt or upset her; maybe it was simply time for him to step back.

And he told her just that, through sung words that came from a place in his soul he rarely visited anymore.

When he was finished, he could see she was hurt and surprised, but somehow he couldn’t manage to be sorry that whatever spell or demon was affecting him had made him say more than he wanted to.

“That’s not how I wanted you to hear that,” he offered to her continued silence. “But maybe it’s best that you know.”

She shook her head and started saying something, but cut herself immediately.

“I need air,” she mumbled, and without looking at him or Spike, she walked out into the back alley. Giles hesitated about going after her, but decided not to when Spike followed her outside. Maybe, he told himself, he had said quite enough already.

*****

Giles’ little song had been full of surprises, and as he followed Buffy into the back alley Spike wondered which of these little revelations had affected her the most. She hadn’t been pleased at all to walk in on their training session, but somehow he doubted it was at the forefront of her mind anymore.

Arms wrapped around her, she had stopped in the middle of the alley and he slipped behind her after a brief hesitation. The way she tensed up when he held her was enough to let him drop his arms again. She looked a little apologetic, when she faced him, but more than anything, she looked upset.

“You OK?” he asked, knowing the answer already but unsure what else to say.

She shrugged. “I will be. Once I’ve taken in all of what he said.”

As he vainly tried to find something to say, she took a few steps and he watched her; she seemed… lost.

“I never wondered what happened to Ben,” she murmured after a few instants, and he wasn’t sure whether she was speaking to herself or to him. “I should have asked. Shouldn’t I?”

She turned questioning eyes to him, and Spike felt uncomfortable at being put on the spot. “You had a lot on your mind,” he reminded her, but she shook her head.

“No. I had one thing on my mind. You. Nothing else. No one else. I disconnected from everything and just… just waited for something to happen. Waited for… for Giles to shake me and send me back out to slay, I guess. And all this time he wanted to but never did.”

“Would you have done it?” he asked her, his voice expressionless.

A little flustered, she glanced at him; what she said didn’t really answer his question. “I had made a promise.”

“But would you have done it,” he insisted, “if Giles had pointed out you were putting the gang in danger? If he had given you an excuse?”

Her eyes remained on the ground in front of her. Spike went to her and, with a finger under her chin, forced her to look at him. 

“Did you need it?” he asked, and her only answer was a blink. “I understand what it’s like,” he continued. “To need the fight, and the peace that comes with it. I’m feeling the same thing right now. It’s part of me and it hurts that you won’t let me help you.”

“I can’t let you…” she started objecting, but the first music notes stopped her. Spike tried to fight it, fight the words that were already rising to his lips, but it was too late.

_I’d died_  
So many years ago  
But you could make me feel  
Like it wasn't so  
I was ready to die for you  
It wasn’t just for show 

_I’m scared_  
Unsure of what I feel  
Afraid to tell the one I love  
I’m not sure I can deal  
Easier to be a dead man  
Than to become human 

_That's life_  
But I don't wanna stay  
Safe and at home every time   
That you go out to slay.  
You think I’m a dead weight, don’t you?  
Let me prove it’s not true  
Just let me play my part 

_Let me play my part_  
Let me live my life  
Let me choose my battles every night  
And let me fight again  
I cannot spend my whole life  
Hiding behind you in my pain  
So, let me play my part 

_You know, you're gonna have to start_  
To chain me if you really want to keep us both apart  
But til you do  
I'm telling you  
Stop playing with my heart  
And let me play my part 

_I thought_  
I might go  
But I cannot bear to leave you alone  
Again as you were while I was gone  
Yet the choice is mine, this life, my own  
You cannot protect me like you do Dawn  
I need to fight, I need to see  
I can be me 

_So let me play my part_  
Let me live my life  
Let me choose my battles every night  
And let me fight again  
I cannot spend my whole life  
Hiding behind you in my pain  
Let me play my part  
Why won't you let me play my part? 

The moment stretched into painful silence. In front of Spike, backed up against the alley wall, Buffy was looking straight at him as though seeing him for the first time, and although he hated having given such a show, although some things he had said he had barely been realizing himself, he hoped, really hoped, that she would finally understand. And that she would say…

“I’m sorry, Spike,” her voice pained as she looked away. “I can’t. I just can’t risk losing you, not again.”

Avoiding looking at him or even touching him, she slipped away and he didn’t need to look back to know she had gone back inside. Ignoring the stinging in his eyes, Spike walked out of the alley, continuing into the street without paying attention to where he was going. He tried not to think farther than the few steps in front of him; if he had, he might have screamed in both frustration and pain.

So he was alone when he came face to face with the demon by accident; and it told, almost too quickly, where its master had hid. Where its master held Dawn. Spike should have questioned its loose tongue, but he didn’t; his mind was in too much of a mess.

His first instinct was to run back to the store and get Buffy, but he pushed the idea away immediately and, fists closed tight enough to hurt, he left the demon there and strode toward the Bronze. She didn’t want him to fight? Let her try to stop him now.

*****

As she returned inside the shop, Buffy didn’t know what to think anymore. Giles’ song and its revelations had shaken her because she had not expected any of it; yet, it was Spike’s words that echoed in her heart with a dull ache.

Giles looked at her as she came to pick up the jacket she had left at the research table, but she avoided his gaze.

“I need to get home. I told Dawn I wouldn’t be gone long.”

“Buffy, about what I said…”

She shook her head, but still couldn’t look straight at him. “Not now, Giles.”

His hand closing on her arm stopped her. “When, then? Are we ever going to talk about any of it? You can’t just avoid the subjects you don’t like forever, Buffy.”

She pulled her arm free and he let go. He appeared angry when she finally looked at him, but she doubted the anger was completely for her.

“I never avoided what I didn’t know about,” she pointed out. “You’re the one who didn’t…”

Exclamations of surprise from the Scoobies behind her as well as Giles’ widening eyes as he looked at something over her shoulder made her stop mid-sentence and turn to the source of disturbance. A demon stood by the entrance, grotesquely resembling an oversized Pinocchio; its eyes searched the gang, looking for someone – looking for her, Buffy guessed. She stepped forward; got the information she needed; was not overly surprised to hear her sister was in trouble. Normal workday on the Hellmouth.

Normal, except that Anya and Xander were still bickering over their song, Tara was glaring at Willow who didn’t seem to know why, Giles was still angry, and Spike… She didn’t know where Spike was. On his way home, she supposed. Unless he decided to take another dive into the bottle. And shouldn’t she have been more upset about that?

She found out where Spike was when they arrived at the Bronze and found him on stage near the demon and Dawn. On stage and singing. He turned to her, to the gang, but continued without a pause. She expected him to repeat what he had sung to her earlier, but this song revealed something else altogether with its words. Something that explained why he had never thanked the Scoobies for bringing him back – Willow had made a casual comment about it recently. It explained, also, why he wanted so much to fight, even now. It explained, mostly, the vibes of deep loss he had been giving off for weeks.

_I had no soul,_  
It was my heart  
That set me apart.  
Forgiven. 

_So that’s my parole._  
It wasn’t hell,  
After my farewell:  
Forgiven.  
I think I was forgiven. 

_So let me save them just one more time.  
Please, let me save her.  
_  
Wide eyes set on Spike as he started dancing, Buffy felt as if she couldn’t breathe anymore. All this time, they had assumed he had escaped hell by being brought back, but even though he hadn’t said the word, even though he had only hinted, she knew now where he had been, and she couldn’t believe she had never thought of the possibility before.

She couldn’t believe she hadn’t understood this was why he was in so much pain.

She couldn’t believe he hadn’t told her.

She was abruptly pulled out of her shock by the sight of smoke rising from Spike’s twirling body. Her first thought – _vampire boyfriend plus fire equals lots of bad_ – made her hesitate one second when she realized the vampire part of the equation wasn’t true. The rest still was however, and she rushed to him, stopping him with her arms tight around his body, and words that she didn’t know she had in her, words that could have applied to her almost as well as to him.

_Get forgiveness_  
Not by saving us  
From another mess,  
Just live it.  
You are a man.  
Forget the demon,  
Your life as human  
Just live it.  
You have to start to live it.  
So both of us can live it.  
  
The ache in his eyes mirrored that of Buffy’s soul and she promised herself, as she pressed her lips to his, that things would be better, that she would help him, that she would make his life worth living again.

*****

_I never said the word, but I think they all heard it. If it wasn’t hell they had pulled me from, where was I?_

_Yeah, still not going to say it now. I don’t know for a fact where I was. I just know where I wasn’t. Good enough for me, and if you want to speculate, feel free._

_Still, it was a nice place to be. Not that I’m saying I enjoyed being dead – or deader than I was before I died at least. Just… it could have been far worse, I suppose._

_As for this redemption thing… I don’t know if that’s how it works. I don’t know if all I had to do was play for the good team to end up where I ended up, or if the way I died had anything to do with it, or everything I did before that._

_What I do know is that they brought me back and I lost whatever purpose I had. And after my little song and dance, they knew it. The Scoobies, Willow in particular, knew that I wasn’t as thankful as they had assumed I would be, and Buffy… Well, she got another clue about why things were wrong with me, but it wasn’t going to be an easy fix. ‘Course not. What in our lives has ever been easy?_

_How it ended? Demon left. Didn’t take his Xander-shaped bride with him. We all broke out into a last song. I had had enough, though, and I left them to it. I wasn’t ready to confront any of them, especially Buffy, and I planned to go home by myself. She didn’t leave me any choice though. She caught up with me just as I had left the Bronze, and we did a bit of the singing thing again. Same song I had sung to her for me, and for her… she sang about missing me, missing the closeness we had shared just a few months earlier._

_I heard her words and I thought this was it, she would let me back in, let me fight by her side like we used to. Be everything we used to be. And yeah, we kissed like we hadn’t since my return. I kissed her with all my hope, and she kissed me with all her fears. We did much more than kissing, that night, when we got home. But you still don’t want me to get into this kind of details, do you?_

_It was sweet. Almost bittersweet. Like we were both trying to recapture a past that was just out of our reach._

_It lasted until morning. Until I asked her where we would patrol that night, and she shied away from me, eventually admitting that she hadn’t changed her mind and she wouldn’t take me on patrol. She wouldn’t risk losing me again, she said. She just couldn’t see that by doing that, she was already losing me._


	9. Forgetting Buffy and Spike

The night was quiet, no demon to be found yet, and Buffy was thankful. She had been trying all day to think, but somehow, it was only now that she could. Being alone, doing something as familiar as patrolling helped clear her mind and allowed her to think back on what had happened the previous night. At first, Giles’ revelations had turned her world upside down, but it was what Spike had said – sung – that now kept going through her head.

He had expressed his desire to fight, but that wasn’t anything new, and she hadn’t changed her mind about it. She wouldn’t let him tag along anymore, she couldn’t take the risk; the more she thought about it, the more convinced she was that she was right. But the rest…

He had mentioned having thought about leaving. It was only a line, just a few words he hadn’t explained and that she hadn’t dared question. But was it true? Was he ready to walk away from her simply because she wanted to keep him safe? And where would he even go if he left? His whole life was in Sunnydale. She couldn’t imagine him starting over again somewhere else. She didn’t want to imagine it.

Then, of course, there was the matter of where he had been after he had died. Buffy had never thought of it during those five awful months; Spike had been gone and that was all that had mattered then. But she hadn’t questioned the Scoobies’ assumption when they had explained they had wanted to pull him out of hell; she hadn’t questioned it, and Spike hadn’t said anything different. He had lied to her, by omission if not out right, for months. And she couldn’t really fault him, not when he had tried to protect her from a truth that hurt him every day.

What could she do, though to make it hurt less? To make him accept this life and who he was now? To make him understand…

“Spike?”

Seeing him there, in the middle of the cemetery, was so unexpected that Buffy stilled instantly, her eye going wide as she tried to figure out what was going on. When she had left the house, he had been sulking and watching the television with Dawn.

“Slayer,” he replied with a slight grin. “Fancy meeting you here.”

For a second, Buffy was taken back to these many times before when Spike had joined her on patrol. He had started when she was still dating Angel, and had never stopped. There was something wrong with the picture, though. The leather duster was the same, as was the cocky upturn of his lips, but his hair and glasses didn’t fit the memory.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she sighed. “It’s dangerous.”

As she walked closer to him, she noticed the angry flame in his eyes; that, too, was something she had often seen.

“That’s exactly why I’m here,” he shot back, his smile disappearing in a second. “It’s dangerous for you too, and I’m not going to stay home and let you get hurt.”

“Let me get hurt?” she shook her head. “You have it backwards. I’m the one who’s not going to let you risk your life.”

He crossed his arms; the smile was back, but now it was bitter. “It’s not like you ever protested when your little gang tagged along. And as far as not letting me do anything… I’d like to see you stop me.”

She felt very much like rolling her eyes at him; the macho act was getting old. However, something behind him caught her attention and she moved to stand between Spike and the incoming demons. Four vampires and a… thing approached with purposeful strides.

“Don’t try to fight her,” the unidentified demon said in a low-pitched voice that was difficult to understand. “Get to him first. He’ll be a piece of cake now that he’s human.”

She took the time to shoot Spike a glare before attacking, and was somewhat satisfied to see that his eyes had widened at the threat the demon had voiced.

“See?” she told him, her tone screaming her frustration. “ _That_ ’s why you should have stayed home.”

*****

“Do you… do you think he was in Heaven?”

Tara’s quiet question was met with eyes dropping to the kitchen table and heavy silence.

“I’d never have imagined that was where he was,” Xander eventually said. “I mean, he’s been playing on our side for a few years, yeah, but that’s nothing compared to a century of killing before that.”

Anya straightened at his words, and to Tara’s eyes, she looked slightly upset. “Maybe what matters is what he was doing when he died,” she suggested, her voice a little huffy. “Or else, what would be the point for ex-demons to do any good things?”

Xander’s eyes widened a bit at that; he had certainly picked up on Anya’s underlying question, but he didn’t have time to reply as Willow spoke. “We don’t know that’s where he was. He never actually said it.”

“Where else?” Tara interjected, but Willow didn’t seem to hear.

“He didn’t have a soul when he died,” she continued. “So how could he have gone to Heaven? As a demon, he was damned to an eternity of torment. That was it. Maybe his soul was already in Heaven, because he didn’t do anything bad as a human, and when I brought him back I called on his soul and that’s what he remembers. If I had called back his demon, he would have remembered Hell. So it’s a good thing in the end I decided to bring him back human.”

Tara shook her head slowly, at first because she couldn’t understand how Willow could still ignore Spike’s pain after he had bared his heart to them; soon though, she picked up on the other part of what Willow had said.

“You decided?” she repeated. “I thought you said that was the only way the spell could work.”

By her wild blinking, Willow must have realized she had said too much, and she tried to correct herself. “No, what I meant…”

“It just made more sense,” Xander interrupted. “Why give Buffy a vamp when we could give her a human boyfriend?”

For a few seconds, Tara’s mind went blank as she looked between him and Willow. Did they really believe they could manipulate people like this and make decisions for others? Then she remembered; Willow did believe that. She had proven it before by playing with Tara’s mind, hadn’t she?

“So, you two decided together that what was best for Buffy was a non-demon Spike and you didn’t even tell us?” Anya asked, now sounding hurt.

“An, that’s not…”

“A demon isn’t good enough, is that it? You’d never have looked at me twice if I had still had my powers I bet.”

Now clearly angry, Anya left the table, and Xander went after her. Tara’s eyes followed them to their bedroom, but Willow’s voice brought her back to her own heart problems. Maybe it was finally time to tell Willow just how much she was risking when she played with magic without thinking of the consequences.

*****

The bell above the door rang as Willow and Xander stepped inside the store, and with that the gang was finally all there. Without realizing what he was doing, Giles patted the front of his jacket, feeling the plane ticket on the inside pocket. He caught Buffy’s eyes as he did so; she was leaning against the ladder, arms crossed and a blank expression on her face as she returned his gaze.

He had told her earlier about his intention to leave, and she had reacted with that same blank look she had given him when he had gone back to England a few months before. He had tried explaining that obviously she didn’t need him; she hadn’t asked him to help her train in weeks. Her snarky retort that he hadn’t come back for nothing since he had been training Spike had been strangely painful. She seemed to realize that, though, and had apologized, had even said she was sorry things had gotten so difficult. But it had been a repeat of that first conversation and the fact was that she hadn’t asked him to stay. This time, though, he hadn’t expected or hoped she would.

“Since everybody’s here,” he started, “there’s something I need to tell you. I’m headed back to England. For good this time.”

Buffy and Spike were the only ones who didn’t express some kind of surprise, and Giles was quickly under the fire of many questions and protests. He tried to answer them all the best he could, but some of them still hit him harder than he had thought they would. And he was surprised when Spike jumped into the conversation after Dawn asked, sounding quite worried, what would happen to Buffy without a Watcher.

“She won’t be without one for long.”

All eyes turned to where Spike stood behind the counter, and silence fell on the room even as he looked at Giles.

“You can tell them I’m interested in the job. And as soon as…”

“What’s going on here?” Buffy cut in, stepping forward and looking from Giles to Spike with a frown that made it clear she hadn’t known about this. “What job? Tell what to who?”

Sighing softly, Giles took his glasses off and sat down on the bench. Spike had definitely not lost his sense for drama, and the gang had apparently forgotten about Giles’ announcement already.

“The Council offered to take me in as a Watcher,” Spike announced, a strange, grim smile stretching his lips. “I’ll just need a bit of training and then I’ll be back.”

As he observed Buffy walk closer to the counter, her expression one of incredulity, Giles had the sudden feeling that there was more going on than what was being said. If he had understood Spike’s veiled comments correctly while he had trained, Buffy was not letting him help her on patrol; he certainly thought that becoming her Watcher would change things, but had he really expected that she would have no objections?

It was Dawn however who raised the first protest. “What do you mean, you’ll be back?” she asked, her voice higher than usual. “Where are you going?”

Without leaving Spike a chance to answer, Buffy finally said what she thought. “That’s not going to change anything. Watcher or not, you’re not…”

What Spike was, or was not in Buffy’s eyes seemed suddenly to lose all importance as a wave of exhaustion slid over Giles, and he fell asleep, unaware that so had everyone around him.

*****

Waking up in a store – a magic store – with a bunch of strangers and no idea of who they were or even who he was felt quite nerve wrecking, but discovering his name and address on his driver license helped William relax just a little bit. At least, he wasn’t related to that Rupert, as he had first thought; it was a relief not to have a potential stepmother that didn’t look any older than the age his ID card gave him. Although to be fair, he wasn’t as bad off as the pretty blonde who had dubbed herself Joan for lack of a better name, and who was suggesting that they all go to the hospital. Pretty and she wasn’t afraid to take charge; nice. William wondered if she was just a customer or if she had been in the store for more personal reasons. She had been rather close to the counter against which he had awoken, maybe…

Maybe going out wasn’t such a good idea after all. Along with all the others, William screamed as what looked like monsters appeared behind the glass shop door.

Things happened pretty fast after that. Shouting that they wanted spikes, two creatures – two vampires? – eventually crashed through the shop window and came straight at William. He tried to fight them off the best he could, and judging by how his body reacted, he knew how to fight. Two things became clear very soon. For one thing, the vampires were after him; for the other, Joan was simply breathtaking. If his body remembered something about how to fight, hers clearly remembered too, even better, and she transformed one of the vampires into dust in an instant. The other ran out, leaving everybody in the shop to stare at Joan.

William was still in awe, ten minutes later, when he saw her do it again.

The group had decided to split up, some of them leaving through the sewers to go find an hospital while Rupert and his fiancée tried to uncover a magical solution to their lack of memory. As for William, he had accompanied Joan out through the front door, and they had lured whatever vampires were there away from the shop. Now that he saw her fight to defend him against these monsters, William was starting to develop a bit of a crush. No, a big crush.

“Any idea why they’re after you?” she asked, offering him her hand to help him stand; she had pushed him down to the ground instants earlier to take him out of the way of the last vampire before staking it.

“No clue,” he replied, refraining to point out that he didn’t have any more memories than she did. Her hand was so small, he thought as he accepted her help. Small, but deadly. And lovely. And, he realized, he wished he didn’t have to let go of it. “Thanks,” he told her with a bright smile, squeezing her hand lightly. “You’re quite the fighter.”

There wasn’t much light in the street, but he could have sworn she was blushing when she gave him a small grin and an embarrassed shrug. Without thinking, he reached to push a stray strand of her behind her ear. The gesture felt familiar, somehow, as though he had done this exact same thing many times before. The look she gave him was questioning, maybe even hopeful, and William wondered if she was thinking the same thing he did – that they had known each other quite well before they had lost their memory.

Following the same body instincts he had obeyed when fighting off the vampires, William slowly leaned toward her, giving her time to move back if she didn’t want this. She remained where she was, her eyes wide open and looking straight at William until his lips touched hers. Her eyelids fluttered shut then, and after merely a second, William drew back.

“We’ve done this before,” he murmured when she looked at him again. It wasn’t really a question, but she nodded, slowly, hesitantly.

“I think… we have,” she agreed, and moved just a bit closer to William. He met her halfway, and snaked an arm around her when their mouths found each other again. This time the kiss was more insistent, and they parted their lips at the same instant. William held Joan just a little tighter when her tongue tentatively ran against his. His whole body was answering her touch, and he couldn’t get enough of her, couldn’t…

… couldn’t keep this up or they might soon face charges for indecent behavior.

With some difficulty, he pulled away from her, but still didn’t let go of her hand.

“We’ve definitely done this before,” she breathed, bright eyed and grinning, and William chuckled.

“Something tells me we’ve done much more. But maybe we shouldn’t push things any further now.”

Blushing again, she nodded. “You’re right. We’ll have our memories back soon and… we shouldn’t do anything until then.”

William had only been about to say they shouldn’t do anything until they found a less exposed place, but maybe she was right; it was probably more reasonable. Although he was beginning to suspect he wasn’t the kind of person who liked doing reasonable things.

“So shall we try to find the others, then?” he suggested, and when she agreed they started walking down the street, still holding hands. In truth, William had no clue where they were going, but being with her was nice. More than nice.

“Hey! I recognize that name!” he exclaimed as they approached an intersection. Pulling out his driver license again, he read the address printed on it aloud before pointing to the sign indicating that Revello Drive was on their left. “Shall we go to my place, then?”

They quickly found the right house, and William successfully tried the key he had discovered in his pocket. They stepped in together, and after finding the light switch, they entered the living room. Something caught William’s eye and he went straight to the fireplace, picking up one of the pictures on the mantelpiece.

“Look!” he called out, showing it to Joan. “It’s you! And Dawn! There’s a picture of you and Dawn in my home!”

Coming closer to him, Joan smiled. “So… maybe it’s… _our_ home?” she suggested, and leaned against him to look at the other pictures on the mantle. The feel of her distracted him, and his hand was shaking a little when he placed the frame back from where he had taken it.

“Do you want to see the rest of the house?” he murmured, barely resisting the urge to kiss her again as she stood so close.

“How about we do that later?” she replied, a little hesitant. “Could we just… sit down for a while? Talk a bit?”

As it turned out, they didn’t talk much. It was a bit difficult to make conversation when you didn’t know the first thing about yourself. But they did sit together on the couch, coming very close to cuddling, and exchanged a couple of soft, chaste kisses. The arrival of a kitten, which mewled at their feet until William picked it up, gave them something to talk about for a little while as they tried to guess its name. Eventually, they fell asleep, holding on to each other, the newly baptized ‘Kitty’ curled up on Joan’s lap as she leaned against William.

When they woke as Dawn, accompanied by Tara, entered the house, they were Spike and Buffy again.

*****

_Willow broke the spell by accident, something to do with a crystal. I’m not sure how it happened, and I honestly don’t care._

_What I do know is that I woke up on the sofa with Buffy curled up in my arms like a warm kitten – exactly like Purr, actually. That was the good part._

_The bad part was remembering the last few hours, and realizing how easy everything could have been if we hadn’t known how they had once been. If I had never been almost as strong as her, never fought by her side and held my own, never bitten her, never mated with her, it would have been easy to simply take what I had and be content with it._

_But all of these things had happened, and I remembered every single one of them. I remembered how she had once relied on me, rather than coddled me. How having her in my arms, in my bed, in my heart, used to be worth everything I was. Now I felt like I had, in effect, given everything that had been me, and received an empty shell in return. She still claimed to love the shell, probably because it looked like me, but how could she love me when I couldn’t even stand myself?_

_And I think we’ll stop there with the self-pitying. Let’s move on, all right?_

_I was pissed off at Willow when it turned out that she had spelled us all; and I wasn’t the only one._

_Sweet, shy Tara packed up her bags and left her. She came to live with us. Giles didn’t say a word to Willow, but before he left Sunnydale he gave her one of those looks, a very British, stiff, disappointed, bordering on condescending look that had her cheeks redden, though I’m not sure if it was in shame or in anger. Buffy… Buffy tried to be the understanding friend, but I knew better than that. I knew the experience had shaken her as it had me, even when she pretended otherwise._

_I wished she had told me. If she missed what had once been – what I once had been – it would have been the perfect time to tell me. We could have mourned together, maybe, we could have…_

_I don’t know._

_What I do know is that she went back to pretending everything was fine, didn’t even acknowledge that I had talked about going to London to train. She was as much in denial as she had ever been, and a small, shameful part of me hated her just a little bit for that._


	10. Fuck

Turning off the stove, Tara turned toward the island and smiled at Dawn’s frown of concentration as she worked on her homework. Tara had only lived at Revello for a couple of days and she had repeatedly said that she would leave as soon as she could get a dorm room on campus. But already, she had fallen into the habit of preparing breakfast and dinner for Dawn, Buffy and Spike, with Dawn usually doing her homework in the kitchen while she was cooking. It reminded her, a little, of home, when she had been left to care for her family after her mother had died. It felt even more similar with the dull ache in her heart at having lost someone she had loved so much. Someone she still loved. Someone she still couldn’t believe had tried to play with her mind and change her.

“You want to set up the table Dawnie?” she suggested, chasing the image of Willow from her mind with a slight shake of her head.

Dawn looked up at her. “Aren’t we waiting for Buffy?”

“She said not to, she wasn’t sure what time she’d be back. She wanted to… she said she wanted to check on Willow.”

It was hard to say her name, and by the concerned look Dawn gave her, the pain had transpired in her voice. She didn’t want to let Dawn start another round of questions for which she had no answers, however, and she quickly added, “I’ll go get Spike. Get the table ready?”

Dawn nodded, and Tara left the kitchen quickly. Willow had tried explaining that all she had wanted was to make Spike forget where he had been so he wouldn’t feel so miserable, but Tara knew, deep down, that he hadn’t been the only person whose memory Willow had tried to change. That betrayal still hurt too much for words.

She found Spike easily enough; all she had to do was follow the sound of the television to the living room. He was sitting on the sofa, mindlessly petting the kitten purring on his lap as he watched the news. His foot was twitching restlessly, she noticed, and somehow that little action felt more like the old Spike than anything else did.

“Dinner is ready,” she announced, smiling when he glanced at her.

“Thanks, pet, but I’m not very hungry.”

He had been saying that rather frequently since she had moved in, and unless she was mistaken, he had lost a lot of weight since they had brought him back; but she wasn’t sure what, if anything, she ought to say about it. She wasn’t sure anything she could say would make any difference.

“Come on, Spike. I’m sure Dawn would love for you to join us.”

She could see by the concern in his eyes that it was the right way to convince him; but at that instant, something on the television caught their attention.

“And in local news, Sunnydale’s authorities continue their investigation into the museum robbery that left one man frozen solid.”

Frowning, Tara stepped closer to the television even as Spike stood up amidst some protesting mewling from Purr.

“Looks like there’s a new demon in town,” Spike said blankly; he was already in the hallway and sliding on his duster when she caught up with him.

“You… you’re going to the museum?” she asked even though she already knew the answer.

He nodded. “I’ll see if I can find tracks or something before Sunnydale’s finest ruins the site.”

“Don’t you want to…” Tara had been about to suggest he wait for Buffy, but something in the way he tensed, in the guarded look he gave her, made her change her mind. “… to grab something to eat before you go?”

She could have bet, when he declined, that he had guessed what she had almost said. The front door closed on him, and when Tara turned toward the kitchen, she noticed Dawn standing there, leaning against the doorframe.

“Where is he going?” she asked, sounding a bit worried.

“Something unusual happened at the museum,” Tara replied, trying not to say anything that might alarm Dawn. “He’s just going to check it out.”

“Buffy won’t be happy he went without her,” Dawn sighed, and Tara understood all too well. She hadn’t been there long, but she too had noticed the pointed remarks and half arguments Buffy and Spike exchanged about patrols when they thought no one could hear them. It didn’t feel fair to talk about her hosts behind their back though, and she said nothing, herding Dawn back to the kitchen.

“Let’s have dinner,” she said resolutely. “Aren’t you hungry? I’m famished.”

With a blatant lack of enthusiasm, Dawn sat down and started eating what Tara put on her plate, and Tara knew that it wouldn’t be long before she said what was on her mind. She was right.

“You think he’s really going to leave to become a Watcher?”

The question took Tara by surprise. It wasn’t what she had expected, far from it. No one had actually said a word about Spike’s announcement that he wanted to take Giles’ place since they had regained their memories.

“I don’t know, Dawnie,” she said gently. “He hasn’t been talking about it.”

“No, he hasn’t,” she acquiesced, pushing around the food in her plate with her fork. “But he and Buffy are so…” She shrugged. “Maybe he wants to get away from her. From us.”

“No, don’t think that.”

Dawn’s eyes were still down, and Tara hated the sad look on her face.

“Dawn, look at me. Maybe he and Buffy are having problems, but you have nothing to do with that, and I’m sure he doesn’t want to get away from you. And even if he goes, it’ll only be for a little while; he’ll be back to Sunnydale before you know it.”

She could tell that Dawn wasn’t convinced, but before either of them could say anything more, the front door opened and Buffy called out that she was home. It didn’t take long for her to inquire about Spike’s whereabouts, and, as Dawn had predicted, she wasn’t happy when Tara told her. Grumbling under her breath, she went out again, and Dawn’s miserable sigh made it quite clear what she thought of what was happening.

*****

Spike had circled the museum for a third time, looking for clues as to what had attacked the guard, when he came face to face with Buffy. Arms crossed, she looked like she was annoyed but hanging on to her temper by her nails.

“I didn’t find anything,” he said without preamble. “No tracks or…”

“And what if you had?” she asked without letting him the time to finish. “Suppose you had found whatever froze that guy. What would you have done other than get frozen yourself?”

“Same thing you would have. Fought.”

Dropping her arms, she sighed. “Spike, come on. I don’t want to argue about this anymore. I know you want to help but…”

Shaking his head, Spike pulled out the cigarettes he had bought a few days earlier and kept hidden until now. Buffy’s voice faltered when he lit one and took a deep drag, but she didn’t take the bait.

“But I’d feel better if I didn’t have to worry about where you are,” she finished.

“What about _me_ worrying about where _you_ are?”

By the way her eyebrows shot up, she wasn’t understanding; so he explained himself.

“Your last class ended five hours ago. Been on patrol all that time?”

She frowned, and he had a feeling she liked being questioned about her actions about as much as he did.

“I went to see Willow,” she said defensively, and Spike tensed despite himself at the name. “I can still visit my friends, can’t I?”

“Oh, you can do anything you want, luv. It’d be nice if the reverse were true for me too. I’m going for a walk. Don’t wait up for me.”

As he strode away, he expected her to come after him, and it wasn’t long before he realized he had been right. Buffy was a great fighter, but stealth wasn’t her strong suit. She had never needed to work on that skill before, and to someone like him who had once made an art of it, she was anything but subtle. He didn’t mind that she was following him, however; actually, he had hoped she would. Hoped he would be able to give her a little demonstration.

Without a hesitation, he directed his steps toward the closest cemetery, pulling a stake from the inside pocket of his duster as he passed through the gates. It was all he could do not to call out and try to attract a vamp. If she saw him fight, if she could only understand that he was far from defenseless, maybe she wouldn’t be so worried anymore, maybe she would even accept his presence at her side when she patrolled. She had let the Scoobies help her for years, and none of them had ever really trained, so why was she so bloody stubborn when it came to him?

Spike had been about to light a new cigarette when a vampire finally appeared. Hoping that Buffy was paying attention, he dropped the cigarette and… watched as she turned his vampire into ashes faster than he could say ‘bloody hell’.

“What the… why…”

“Enough with the games, Spike. You were a second away from…”

“A second away from staking him if you hadn’t jumped in!” he exploded.

She glared at him. “That’s not what it looked like to me.”

Throwing his arms in the air, he turned around and walked away. This time, he did his best to lose her, and it wasn’t long before he had. Without anyone to take his kills, he fought and staked four vampires before returning home long past midnight. The house was asleep, and only Purr was waiting for him. He shed his duster, boots, shirts, and lay down on the sofa under the afghan, the kitten soon fast asleep curled up on his chest. It was a long time before he could find sleep, and not that long after that before the noises in the kitchen woke him up.

To hear Tara prepare breakfast seemed to awaken his stomach, and the rumblings made it painfully obvious that he hadn’t had anything for dinner the previous evening. It wasn’t the first meal he had skipped over the past weeks, far from it; as a vampire, he had loved the textures and bold taste of human food, but strangely enough, he had lost interest in it by coming back to life.

Leaving the purring cat on the sofa, he picked his t-shirt off the floor and slipped it on before going into the kitchen; making Tara blush was usually fun, but he was in no mood for it.

“’Morning pet.”

His greeting seemed to startle her, and she turned wide eyes toward him from where she had been stirring batter.

“Spike! I didn’t hear you come down. Good morning. Do you want coffee? I’ll have pancakes ready in a few minutes.”

“Coffee sounds great.”

He sat down to sip at the full mug she offered him, and watched without really paying attention as she continued her preparations. He had been wanting to talk to her for days, to tell her he was sorry she had lost her girl and understood all too well how she had to feel, but the words hit too close to home, and he couldn’t make himself say anything.

The coffee was gone before he knew it, and with thanks to Tara he left the kitchen and went up the stairs. He dreaded seeing Buffy, yet at the same time, he missed her, too much so to resist tiptoeing into the room and watching her sleep for a little while. She was facing away from him, and he itched to slip into bed behind her, to wake her with kisses as soft as her skin, to pull her tight against him until he didn’t know where his body stopped or where hers started.

But his anger from earlier was still there, lower in intensity but still burning as the memory of feeling so damn useless became vivid again. He had once promised Joyce he would take care of her girls. He had sworn the same thing to himself dozens of times, and had taken Buffy for his mate with the thought that their link would help him protect her better. Now he felt like he was breaking his promise, simply because he was unable to show Buffy how important it was to him.

With a quiet sigh, he abandoned his watching and went to the dresser, picking up clean clothes before stepping toward the bathroom door. Only then did he notice that her eyes were open. The realization made him pause, and she seemed to take that as her cue to talk.

“Missed you,” she murmured, and behind those two words he could hear the question she wasn’t asking.

“Slept on the couch,” he answered, a little gruffly. “Didn’t want to wake you.”

“You wouldn’t have.”

Again, he heard what she hadn’t said – that she had been too worried, too upset to sleep. There was nothing he could answer to that without starting another round of recriminations, so he just nodded and slipped into the bathroom. Twenty minutes later, he was out of the house, having managed to say goodbye to Buffy with a peck on the cheek and no arguments.

The day at the store went slowly, even more so when by mid-afternoon Buffy arrived, followed a little later by Tara then Xander and finally Dawn, and the research party grew with each of them. For hours, they all searched for what demon might have frozen the guard at the museum, but found little more than headaches.

Spike was the first to give up; books were leading them nowhere. Maybe finding the right demons to question during that night’s patrol would be more helpful; in the meantime, he was supposed to check the inventory. Tara left soon after with Dawn, the both of them having homework and studying to do.

Once they had left, Buffy told the soon to be happy couple about her visit to Willow. Spike didn’t really listen; he had no interest in hearing how the Witch had transformed her rat into a real girl. She really had to mess with everything, didn’t she? And her friends were ready to accept her games. Not one of them had said a thing about how she had played with their memories. Spike couldn’t help feeling bitter and wondered what it would take for them to tell her she was going too far.

Before night started falling, he was out of the shop, having changed out of his work clothes and into more comfortable ones since he wanted to patrol. He hadn’t announced his intentions before leaving, but he wasn’t very surprised when he noticed Buffy was following him again.

*****

It felt strange, Buffy reflected as for the second night in a row she followed Spike without letting him know she was there, to be the one doing the stalking act for a change. That had been his part, and she felt slightly uncomfortable in it. It was even more difficult because she wished so much he would stop trying to do her job, but she was tired of arguing with him about it. They were getting nowhere with their arguments; he refused to listen to her fears, and had not given her a convincing reason why she should change her mind.

The stalking game came to an abrupt end just after Spike had dusted a newly risen vampire with an economy of movements that was very different from his old way of fighting. As soon as the ashes had settled, he looked back in Buffy’s direction and she knew he had spotted her.

“So, what’s the difference,” he asked, pulling cigarettes out of his duster’s pocket and lighting one, “between you and I patrolling together and you following me around while I patrol?”

Frowning at the cigarette between his lips, she took a few steps closer to him, stopping just beyond arm reach. If she had been any closer, she would have taken the cigarette from him.

“The difference is that I still don’t think it’s a good idea for you to patrol,” she snapped, barely biting back her furious comment about his smoking habits.

“Too bad I don’t care what you think then.”

His words were flat, but they stung even more for it. He didn’t notice however; in a puff of blue smoke, he had turned his back on her and started walking away. He hadn’t taken more than three steps before she had caught up with him and stood in his way.

“Just for future reference, is there anything about what I think you _do_ care about? Because from where I stand, you don’t give a damn about me anymore.”

He looked at her with shocked, angry eyes. “Me? You’re the one who doesn’t want to spend time with me. You’re the one keeping me away…”

“Only to keep you safe!” she interrupted, exasperated that they were back yet again to that same topic. “Why can’t you understand…”

“Why can’t _you_ understand that it’s not up to you to decide what is or is not too dangerous for me? I’ve been fighting twenty times longer than you have, Slayer. I can take care of myself. I can take care of _you_.”

There was almost a pleading note to his voice as he finished and she shook her head in frustration. “Things are different now, and you know it.”

Spike snorted. “The only thing that’s different is that you won’t let me be there for you anymore. And if you don’t want my help, if you don’t want me around, maybe…” He stopped to take a deep drag on his cigarette, and for a second his eyes closed. When they opened again, they were full of a steely determination – and full of pain. “Maybe it’s time I got out of your way,” he finished, his voice just a little lower.

Surprise and incomprehension left Buffy slack-jawed, and she could only stare at Spike until he had once again turned and started walking away. She couldn’t believe he had suggested… couldn’t believe he would want…

But then, he had already said he wanted to go away, hadn’t he?

The idea that he might not be there anymore – that he might disappear from her life again – was like a cold fist closing around her heart, and the pain was terrifying. He was about to disappear past a crypt when she managed to start moving again; she raced after him. There was no way she was going to let him walk out of her life. They needed to talk and get to the bottom of it all. They had been good at talking only a year earlier; they could be good at it again if they only tried.

Or at least she hoped they could, before it became too late.

*****

Spike could hear Buffy behind him, but he continued walking, even if each step was more painful than the last. He hated what he had said, he hated the idea of not going home with her, but he hated even more that she couldn’t see him as she used to, and he couldn’t bear to see himself weak and useless through her eyes any more.

“Spike! Wait!” she called out after him, sounding as upset as he was. “Where are you going anyway? You’ll never be able to afford rent and pay all your expenses and…”

One more stab; he knew his job at the shop didn’t pay much, not when he was repaying Giles’ loans with part of each paycheck, but it was enough to pay the bills if they were careful, and once he went and became a Watcher, that wouldn’t be a problem anymore. He had yet to hear from Giles or the Council, but he hoped he would soon. In the meantime, he had the perfect place in mind to stay at.

“I won’t need to pay rent,” he threw at her when she had caught up with him, but didn’t slow his pace as he went straight toward his old crypt. She looked ahead of them and seemed to understand what he meant.

“You’ve got to be kidding!” she exclaimed. “It’s a crypt! There’s nothing in there. You can’t…”

“It was good enough when I was a vamp, I don’t see why it wouldn’t be now.” Flicking his cigarette away as he reached the threshold, he glanced back at her. “As I recall, you didn’t mind it so much back then. Another thing that’s changed.”

He didn’t try to identify the look in her eyes, forcing himself instead not to care if it was pain or anger. She had proved she didn’t care how he felt, it was only fair that he wouldn’t either. Even if he hated himself for it.

With a little more force than was strictly necessary, he opened the door and stepped in, only to be stopped by Buffy’s hand closing on his arm.

“Don’t do this,” she asked, and from her tone, she might as well have been pleading as demanding.

“You’re going to let me patrol with you?”

The look in her eyes was answer enough, and he pulled free of her hold and walked further inside. Ignoring her even as he was fully aware she had followed him, he looked around and quickly assessed the state of the crypt. It didn’t look as though anything or anyone had taken up residence; even the telly was still there. He could almost have believed he had left the place hours earlier, instead of months.

“Why are you doing this to me?” came the anguished question behind him, and Spike struggled not to look at her. She sounded as though tears were near, and he’d never be able to go through this if he saw her cry.

“I’m not doing this to you, Buffy. I’m doing it for myself.”

Her hand reached once more for his arm, but this time her grip was stronger, as though she were gripping a safe line.

“Please… please don’t leave me.”

Her voice broke down and he couldn’t help turning around to look at her. “Not again,” she finished in a whisper.

“I didn’t leave you, I died,” he pointed out, refusing to let the urge take over to hold her, comfort her and agree to anything she asked. “And now I’m back. And I could be the same person if you would just let me…”

“Let you die in my place again?” she cut in abruptly, angrily, and took a step closer to him, glaring up at him. “You think I’d like that? You think that’d make me feel warm and fuzzy to know you lost your life – again! – because of me?”

“I didn’t die because of you,” he shot back. “I died because a bloody insane goddess put my girls in danger. I died because I made a choice. Me. My life, my choice. And it’s still my choice today. I’ll live in a crypt, I’ll fight and patrol every night if I fucking want to, and I’ll bloody well love you even when you do everything you possibly can to push me out of your life!”

For a brief, very brief, instant, Spike was surprised by the words that passed his lips; they didn’t make much sense anymore, and neither did his thoughts, but they were the truth and nothing but the truth. Everything ceased to matter as he just cupped Buffy’s face in his hands and kissed her as he hadn’t done in what felt like centuries. Kissed her with all the love and pain and rage and disappointment that had been tearing at his heart for too long. Kissed her as though it was his one last chance to prove her he was still the man she had once loved and trusted with her life and heart.

He had half expected her to push him away; she was angry, as angry as he was, he had no doubt. But she only hesitated for a second before joining in the kiss fully, her tongue battling his for dominance even as her hands slipped under his duster and to his back, pushing him closer, sliding under his clothes to find bare skin. He gasped and broke the kiss when she trailed her nails over his flesh, but a quick look at the flames in her eyes was enough to set him in motion again.

Capturing her mouth once more, he pressed into her, leading her backwards until she was trapped between the wall and him. Her hands took the opportunity to slide around his waist and work at his belt and jeans fastenings, and he pressed his hardening cock into her touch. The quiet moan she let out, muffled by his mouth upon his, was all the encouragement he needed to clutch at her skirt and draw it up until he could slide his hand beneath it. It took but a flick of his wrist to dispose of the flimsy scrap of lace that had been her underwear.

Things seemed to freeze for a mere second when he lifted her and she clung to him with legs and hands. They looked at each other, both of them looking for something on the other face, and even though Spike wasn’t sure what he had expected to see, a wave of satisfaction ran through him at the pure want he saw in her. They kept eye contact as he slid into her, and if the slow move felt very much like come home, it was nothing compared to the glorious feel of her surrounding him, warm, slick flesh around his own, tight arms and legs around his body.

They started to move together, slowly at first but increasingly faster as the urge to come, to make the other come, grew stronger than everything else in both of them. The support of the wall at her back was helpful, but even with that Spike’s knees threatened to buckle as pleasure rose higher and higher, obliterating in his mind everything that wasn’t Buffy. He tried to take her to the couch, but somehow ended up flat on his back on the floor, with Buffy raising and lowering herself on him, intent on reaching for her pleasure and his own.

To him, she had never been more magnificent as when she came, her hands clutching his own, her head thrown back and mouth open on a soundless cry. The sudden realization that he had gotten his Buffy back was all he needed to join her in the abyss, and he held her tight to him as their bodies slowly calmed down together. This time, he wouldn’t ever let go.

*****

_It wasn’t the first time we had gotten physical since my return. There had been kisses, some naughty touching, and that night after the big song and dance. But it was the first time we fucked. Not made love, but fucked. It was frantic, and messy, and sloppy, and just glorious. For just a few hours, we stopped thinking, the both of us, and did nothing but feel. Touch. Kiss. Lick. Grip. Claw. Thrust. Scratch. In one word, again, fuck._

_It was a bit like that one time when we had been haunted by that frat house’s horny spirits. The same urgency to get off, get the other off, the same need to start over instants after we were done, the same fire in each touch._

_Yeah. I know. Human. What can I say; I had five months and some change to make up for._

_And in the middle of that fucking, I forgot. And I think she did too, because she was no longer treating me as though I was going to break. We were back to what we had once been, vampire and Slayer, and the world could collapse around us, it didn’t matter as long as we were together when it did._

_The crypt did come close to collapsing, or so I thought for a while, but that’s a whole different matter._

_Eventually, at some point, we became too exhausted to do anything but lie in each other’s arms. We made it down to the lower level and its bed. She fell asleep with her head pillowed against my shoulder; and for a little longer, I remained awake and tried to capture the moment in my mind. That was how things should have been between us. In bed and out. No holding back, taking care of each other and beyond all, fire. Passion. The same thing that had been missing from our relationship ever since I had come back._

_I let sleep take me, smiling, thinking we had found it again. Found each other again._

_I was wrong._


	11. Morning After

Waking up in Spike’s arms in the crypt was nothing if not familiar, and Buffy could have moaned in contentment as she slowly drifted back to wakefulness. Her body was sore in all the right places, each tender spot bringing back flashes of what had happened during the night. It had been a long time since she had felt so beautifully satisfied. Stretching carefully, she turned in Spike’s spooning embrace and held him closer, tucking her head under his chin and resting her cheek against his chest. All that was missing for the moment to be perfect was for him to purr, and she expected him to start any second now.

The purr didn’t come; instead, what she noticed was the regular beat of his heart.

With reality crashing down, she reflexively opened her eyes, stunned that, even after several months of sleeping next to his living, breathing self, she had forgotten, even for a short instant, that Spike wasn’t a vampire anymore. It felt like a betrayal, somehow, to have forgotten something as important. And the guilt didn’t stop there.

A spot of color on Spike’s skin, just an inch or so in front of her, caught her attention and she pulled back from where she was leaning against him. Only one torch was lit somewhere behind her, but the light was more than enough for her to realize that the purplish spot on his side was a bruise; it wasn’t the only one.

Taking a shaky breath, she sat up and pulled the sheet off Spike’s body to assess the damage. Several finger-shaped marks marred the skin on his sides, arms, and shoulders, where she had gripped him tightly. There were also long scratches along his torso, inflicted by her nails, and a few assorted bruises from when they had bumped into various pieces of furniture while fucking.

As she continued to look at him, too shocked to react yet, Spike started moving, his arm searching the bed next to him until he had made contact with her. He smiled before he even opened his eyes.

“Morning luv.”

Yawning, he stretched like a big cat, and a grimace of pain immediately contorted his features. Buffy could feel the tears rising to her eyes.

“God Spike, I’m so sorry.”

A small smile still flirting on his lips, he arched an eyebrow at her as he gingerly sat up.

“Seeing the light, are you? Knew you would eventually, but if I had known all it would take was a good…”

Shaking her head in confusion, she interrupted him. “What are you talking about? I’m sorry about what I did to you.”

“Making me feel like a useless git you mean? Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about too. But you’ll let me fight with you, now, and that’s…”

His voice trailed off as he looked at her, and he frowned.

“Fight with me?” she said, almost feeling sick. “Aren’t you hurt enough? Look at yourself!”

He did just that, looking down, and shrugged as he returned his eyes to her.

“It’s just bruises,” he commented, his voice a little amused. “Got far worse before, fighting or even…”

“But before it would have taken you a day to heal!” she exploded. “Can’t you see it’s different now? And I did that to you!”

There was a hysterical note in her voice, and she forced herself to calm down before she started yelling. Spike’s frown wasn’t helping anything.

“Did you hear me complain?” he asked flatly. “Did I ask you to stop at any time? Did I even look like anything was bothering me?”

Leaning toward her, he cupped her face into his hand. “Don’t you dare feel sorry, luv. Not after such a glorious night.”

It was too much for Buffy, and she pulled back, standing up abruptly from the bed and looking around for what pieces of her clothing had made it to the lower level.

“How can you call it glorious,” she muttered, looking anywhere but at him. “I’ve hurt you. I’ve hurt you so much you’re covered in bruises! I can’t believe I…”

He was out of the bed and in front of her before she could finish.

“ _I_ can’t believe you think I mind,” he said, shaking his head. “I never minded playing rough, luv. Hell, I _enjoy_ playing rough. Have you forgotten? Think I would have been up for more again and again if I hadn’t liked it?”

He waggled an eyebrow at her, and the memory of him rising to the occasion until she was the one crying for mercy was indeed quite clear in her mind. However, it could never be as clear as the marked skin right in front of her.

“Don’t try to put a good face on it, Spike. I can see what I did; and for what it’s worth, I’m sorry…”

“Have you even heard a word of what I said? I enjoyed it! Don’t ruin it all now by apologizing!”

From what she could see, his frustration matched hers, and Buffy had a feeling this discussion wouldn’t be going anywhere until they both had calmed down and gotten some rest.

“Let’s go home,” she said tiredly. “Dawn is going to be worried.”

Wearing only her underwear and blouse, she climbed the ladder to the upper level to retrieve the rest of her clothes. She was alone for a couple of minutes before Spike joined her, and he put on his jeans before saying a word.

“You going to let me patrol with you?” he asked, his voice vacant of any expression and Buffy stilled. Slowly, she turned to face him and could tell that he was ready for another argument. She wasn’t.

“Can we just go home?” she pleaded. “We can talk about it later.”

“Yes or no, Slayer.”

She looked away and didn’t answer, leaving him to figure it out. She hadn’t changed her mind. Patrolling was too dangerous for him. If anything, seeing the bruises on him had only reinforced her position. She hadn’t been trying to hurt him; vampires and demons would do more than try.

*****

Buffy’s lack of reply to his simple question was answer enough, and Spike barely managed not to shout in frustration. He had been so sure…

“Right then,” he said with a calm that didn’t match what he felt. “Go home. Say hi to the Bit for me.”

That drew her attention back to him; the widening of her eyes in what looked very much like fear was almost pleasant.

“You’re not coming?” she asked, her voice a murmur.

“Told you last night, didn’t I? Going to live here from now on.”

“But it’s a _crypt_! There’s nothing here!”

“It’s got all I need,” he contradicted her as he picked up his shirt, brushed off a few specks of dirt, and slipped it on. He very much wanted to add that what the crypt didn’t have was someone who made him feel like less than a man, but he managed to keep quiet. There was no need to make things even worse.

“Come on, Spike! The fridge barely works, you’ve got nowhere to cook, and there isn’t even a bathroom, and…”

“You’ll let me patrol with you?”

He could tell by her crestfallen face that she now understood he wasn’t budging; it was hard to stifle a sigh when she finally nodded. He hadn’t been bluffing, but that didn’t mean he would have enjoyed living in the crypt.

“But not every night,” she immediately amended her concession. “And you’ll have to stand back if it’s too dangerous. OK?”

He agreed to her terms, not bothering to fight her on them quite yet. He would have time to push the limits she had set; for now, this victory was sufficient. They finished dressing in silence and left the crypt for home. As they walked, twinges of pain reminding him of what they had done all night, Spike couldn’t help wishing Buffy hadn’t shown she regretted what had happened, regretted having left these marks he felt oddly proud of on his body, and regretted having treated him, for once, the same way she used to. He had tried to make it clear to her that he didn’t mind, far from it, and that he had never felt as alive since he had been brought back as he had that night; but he had a feeling she hadn’t understood.

When Spike and Buffy entered the house, Tara and Dawn had just finished their breakfast and rushed to the door, obviously worried. Buffy made some excuse about having fought demons all night before going upstairs, announcing she needed a shower and to get ready for school. Both Tara and Dawn looked at Spike questioningly, and he wondered if there were bruises that they could see or if they were curious about Buffy’s attitude. He merely shrugged, said they had a hard night, and kept it at that.

He had half a mind to follow her up to the bathroom, but he suspected that she wouldn’t welcome him with open arms; more likely, he would be treated to another round of apologies when she once again saw the marks she had left on him, and he had had more than enough of that already. So instead, he stepped into the kitchen, making a beeline for the fridge. He opened it and detailed its content, looking without finding what he was searching.

Looking, he realized with a slight shock after a few seconds, for blood. 

He had to restrain himself from banging the door shut; instead, he took a few steps back and leaned against the island, gripping the counter tightly with both hands. He had forgotten. For a few seconds, he had forgotten what he was and had fallen back into old habits. He wasn’t sure whether to laugh that his old self was still so close to the surface, ready to reappear if Buffy would only let him, or rage that he was forced to live a life that wasn’t his.

“Spike? Can I… can I talk to you?”

Tara’s quiet words slid into his confused thoughts, light and easy to accept in the middle of chaos. He looked at her, fighting to push a smile on his face.

“Sure. What’s up, pet?”

As always, a bit of color rose to her cheek at the nickname; but he soon realized it was something else that had her look down rather than at him.

“I wanted… to say I’m sorry. We really thought we were doing the right thing by bringing you back. The right thing for you, not just for Buffy.”

Surprise didn’t even begin to cover how Spike felt when he heard her words.

“You’re sorry?” he repeated. “You mean you’d rather see me return to being ashes?”

Shaking her head, she finally looked straight at him. “No, of course not. But I’d rather see you happy than as lost as you are now. I guess… I’m not sorry we brought you back. But maybe we could have done a better job of it. Maybe you could have been happier if we had.”

She never actually said the words ‘human’ or ‘vampire’, never suggested they had made a mistake by bringing him back without his fangs, but Spike understood nonetheless. Unable to say anything with the knot that had taken residence in his throat, he nodded, giving her his silent thanks for noticing, for understanding when no one else, not even Buffy, seemed to be able to. She reached for his hand across the counter and squeezed it briefly, murmuring:

“It’ll get better.”

He wished he could have been as certain as she seemed to be.

*****

For the second night in a row, Willow went to find Rack. This time, though, she went alone. Amy had gone to live with her father, which was probably for the best, even if it meant Willow was living by herself again, with no one to help her forget that Tara had left her.

She hoped he would see her right away. She couldn’t wait to free her mind from everything that cluttered it and made it so hard to think.

First and foremost in her thoughts was Tara, of course. It was Willow’s fault if their relationship had ended, she was aware of that, but at the same time, she couldn’t help feeling that Tara’s unfair demands had started it all. At her bitterest moments, she even sometimes thought that Tara had been jealous of the power she would never have. Then she would realize what path her thoughts had taken and would feel guilty about them.

Then there was Spike. Her greatest accomplishment and he wasn’t even grateful for the life she had given back to him. Not only that, but it was after Willow had brought him back that Tara had started questioning her use of magic. Sometimes, she wondered if bringing him back as she had chosen had been the best thing. Maybe she should have made him a vampire again. Or maybe she should have asked Buffy what she thought.

And Buffy was something altogether, wasn’t she? She had thanked Willow for giving Spike back to her, and then she had turned around and taken Tara in when she had left Willow. That didn’t look much like something a best friend would do. Shouldn’t she have comforted Willow rather than Tara?

“Back so soon, strawberry?”

Willow smiled a bit nervously before entering Rack’s room and tried to chase away thoughts of her friends and ex-lover. She wasn’t totally successful though, and even in the deepest of the magic, their faces still flashed in front of her.

*****

_  
Is that why the demon Willow created came straight for us? Because she had been thinking about us while playing with fire? It always seemed like too much of a coincidence that it had found us before anyone else, but…_

_What?_

_Oh. Yeah. I guess I’m going a bit fast. Let me backtrack a bit._

_Let’s see. Woke up in the crypt, check. Argument, check. Back home, went to work, felt like crap, check. Almost had to argue again with Buffy so she would keep her word and let me accompany her that night, check._

_She didn’t play entirely fair, though. Because instead of leading the way through the cemeteries and doing a proper patrol, she suggested we go check what was going on downtown. I’m not saying there aren’t vamps and demons outside of graveyards, but they’re far more difficult to hunt down when there are people around. And I have no doubt that’s why she insisted on us patrolling there. She didn’t start again on the ‘it’s too dangerous’ chorus, but I could tell it was at the forefront of her mind._

_It didn’t help that a demon soon came toward me and jumped me from behind. I had just enough time to throw my hands in front of me not to fall face first on the pavement. My right wrist didn’t appreciate it much. Hell, but that hurt._

_Buffy took over, of course, and started fighting the thing, trying to keep it away from me. It would probably have helped if she had had a weapon other than her stake. Then things became just a bit more interesting. Willow came out of nowhere, running and out of breath, power practically leaping from her. She started crying that she was sorry and she hadn’t meant to, and with just a wave of her hand, she made the demon disappear into flames._

_If she hadn’t said a word, we would never have known what she had done. But she kept babbling, apologizing over and over and saying she didn’t know what would happen, and eventually Buffy managed to get out of her what had happened. Stares from Buffy, tears from Willow, and promises that things would get better were next._

_I nodded but didn’t say a word when Buffy said she’d take her friend back to her dorm and make sure she was all right. If I had spoken, I would have pointed out that it might have been nice if she had checked that I was all right – but her noticing that I was hurt was the last thing I needed. It wasn’t that bad, just a sprained wrist. I went home and had Tara bandage it for me. She even rubbed in a salve, something she had made herself. It helped with the pain._

_She asked what had happened, and I told her. I didn’t feel as if I could hide that kind of stuff from her. She was hurt, of course; she still cared about Willow too much not to hurt. But she thanked me for telling her._

_I was already in bed when Buffy came back, though I wasn’t sleeping, and when she slipped in next to me, she was trembling._

_In shushed tones, she told me how she had helped Willow remove anything remotely magical from her dorm, and how Willow had apologized again for putting us in danger and promised she would quit doing magic for good. I didn’t say anything, but I had trouble believing her. At the very least, it wouldn’t be easy. Willow had come to the point where she was doing spells as effortlessly as she breathed, it wouldn’t be a piece of cake to let it all go. I was right on that, although a bit over pessimistic I suppose._

_Buffy went to sleep with her cheek against my chest and her arm around me that night. A bit like she had in the crypt. I held her tight like I had, and for a long time I just lay there, eyes open, feeling her so close to me, and yet still so far. Because there was one clear difference, and I could see it all too clearly. She was cuddling me, but deep down, she wasn’t. Deep down, she was tense, and not really letting go. Not really trusting me with her sleep. And that hurt. Like hell.  
_


	12. Salvation & Damnation

Buffy had had a long night, and she was yawning at the breakfast table, trying to wake up with the coffee Tara had brewed before returning upstairs to get ready for her day. She had seemed rather downcast, quieter than usual; Buffy hadn’t needed to ask to guess that Spike must have told her what had happened with Willow the previous night. Tara certainly had a right to know, but Buffy couldn’t help wondering exactly what Spike had told her. She would have asked him but recently, she had noticed mentioning Willow was a sure way to make him moody. He was upset enough already without her adding to it.

He should have been on his way to the Magic Box, but for the past fifteen minutes, he had been going from room to room, leaving a mess behind him as he searched in cluttered drawers, beneath cushions, and under various pieces of furniture. He was muttering under his breath as he did, clearly annoyed. Still sipping her now lukewarm coffee, Buffy pondered whether she ought to point out to him he was going to be late for work. She doubted Anya would fuss about it too much, but his search was useless anyway, seeing how the lighter he was looking for was currently in Buffy’s pocket, and she wasn’t planning to give it back to him.

It was only when Dawn entered the kitchen, her face sullen as she grabbed her breakfast that Buffy realized Spike wasn’t the only one who was going to be late. She was about to give Dawn an earful when Spike came in after her.

“Dawn? Have you seen my lighter somewhere?”

Glancing at him, Dawn shook her head, and stopped mid motion. “What happened to your arm?” she asked, pointing to the bandage peeking out from the edge of his sleeve.

He tugged at the sleeve self-consciously, throwing a quick look at Buffy.

“It’s nothing,” he muttered, “just a scratch.”

Dawn snorted, clearly not believing him and ready to say as much. But Buffy had a rather good idea of how Spike would react to more questions – he had become grumpy when she had asked how his arm was when they had woken up – and she jumped into the conversation to deflect its course.

“You’re going to be late, Dawn. You should grab your school stuff and…”

“And stop asking questions you two won’t answer as usual,” Dawn interrupted, walking away in a huff. “I wonder why I even care.”

As she watched her go, Buffy winced. Just the day before, Dawn had asked Buffy what had happened to make Spike and her stay out all night, and Buffy hadn’t been able to make up an answer, as she was still troubled by the marks she had left on Spike’s body. Dawn hadn’t liked being kept in the dark, and apparently she didn’t like it now either.

Sighing softly, she turned back to Spike. He was rubbing his wrist, scowling at the bandage that remained visible. Leaving her still half full cup on the island, she walked over to him and gently took his hands, trying to soothe him with a smile.

“Does it still hurt?” she asked.

“‘M fine,” he answered instantly, his tone defensive as he pulled his hands out of hers. “I should have taken the bandage off, don’t need it anyway.”

Buffy bit the inside of her cheek, refraining from commenting; she doubted he would have worn a bandage at all if he hadn’t really needed it. And now wasn’t the time to contradict him, not when she wanted to tell him…

“I’m going to patrol alone tonight,” she said in a rush and continued just as fast when he looked like he was going to protest. “We’ve both been out for so long and we shouldn’t leave Dawn with Tara so much, it’s not fair…”

A flicker of Spike’s eyes behind her had Buffy turning to look at what had attracted his attention. Dawn stood in the doorway, looking hurt and angry.

“It’s not fair for Tara to be stuck with me?” she spat, bristling. “If that’s what you think, why didn’t you just send me to live in LA?”

Stomping her feet, she turned away and went to the door. Buffy followed hurriedly, trying to explain it wasn’t what she had meant, but Dawn wasn’t listening. She stopped to throw the door open, and only then did she look at Buffy. “At least if I lived with Dad there’d actually be someone home with me sometimes.”

The words were like a slap to Buffy. It only got worse when she realized her caseworker from Social Services was standing on the threshold and had heard each of Dawn’s angry words.

*****

Dawn had just stormed out in a huff, something she seemed to be doing quite often lately, but Buffy was still at the open front door, talking to someone Spike couldn’t see. She seemed to have forgotten they weren’t quite done with their conversation yet.

“You promised you’d let me fight with you, Slayer,” he reminded her, joining her in the foyer. “If you bloody think I…”

She turned wide eyes to him and gave a tiny shake of her head as she opened the door more widely, letting a woman enter.

“Sp… William, this is Miss Kroger from Social Services. Miss Kroger, this is my boyfriend William.”

Spike could understand that the name ‘William’ was perhaps less susceptible to bring forth questions than ‘Spike’, but he couldn’t help giving Buffy a sour look before turning to the woman.

“A pleasure to meet you,” he uttered, the lie barely hidden in his voice. The woman gave a sniff as she scrutinized him.

“Likewise.”

She turned to Buffy, who invited her to step into the living room. Spike followed them, but remained by the entrance of the room, unsure whether he was supposed to do or say anything. Buffy had mentioned something about Social Services, but they hadn’t really talked about it. The woman looked around the room, seeming unimpressed by the mess Spike had left while searching for his lighter. The cushions of the sofa weren’t fully in place; the afghan was half on the arm of a chair, half on the floor where Purr was playing hide and seek between the folds; several drawers weren’t closed, revealing the clutter inside. She finally looked back at Buffy, an eyebrow raised, pencil poised to take notes on her clipboard. “Your… boyfriend lives here?”

“He does,” Buffy answered with a nervous smile. “He’s a big help with Dawn, she adores him.”

Another sniff as the woman penciled in something. “Anybody else lives with you?”

“No, that’s all, just the three…”

She was cut off by Tara’s voice as she dashed down the staircase and out the door.

“I’m late! Bye Buffy, bye Spike!”

The woman’s eyebrow rose a little higher.

“That’s Tara,” Buffy winced. “She’s a friend, she kinda lives here at the moment.”

“I see,” she woman said flatly. “And the ‘Spike’ she referred to?”

“That’s me,” Spike intervened. “Nickname.”

After a pointed look over her glasses, the woman wrote something else on her notepad. “And your full name would be?”

Repressing a grimace, Spike answered as coolly as he could. “William Pratt.”

“Are you employed, Mr. Pratt?”

She sounded as though she doubted he was, and it irritated Spike, as much as Buffy did by hurriedly answering for him.

“He is, he works downtown, in a shop. A good job.”

The affected perkiness disappeared when the woman asked the name of the shop, and Buffy threw a worried glance at Spike before answering haltingly. “The Magic Box.”

“We sell mostly candles,” Spike said immediately, replying to the woman’s disapproving frown at the word ‘magic’. “Scented oils, pretty rocks. That kind of stuff.”

She didn’t acknowledge his words and returned her attention to Buffy. “What about you, Miss Summers? Are you employed?”

“I… I go to school. At UC Sunnydale. It’s my second year.”

The disapproval was back. “So… Your boyfriend supports you and Dawn?”

There were more questions, the last ones asking what Dawn had meant when she said she would have people around if she lived with her father. Spike could tell that the conversation wasn’t going well, and judging by Buffy’s closed off expression when the woman left, she thought the same.

“They’re going to take her away,” she mumbled, leaning against the door and softly banging her head against it.

“You don’t know that,” Spike interjected. “She didn’t say…”

“She said she’d be back to see us again,” Buffy cut in. “And she wants to talk to Dawn. Alone. And she knows Dawn has been late to school a lot lately. And she wasn’t exactly impressed with you.”

Spike frowned at that. “What did I do, now? I was perfect! Your perfect boyfriend _William_. I didn’t say a bloody thing wrong!”

She rolled her eyes at him and started walking off without answering. His eyes narrowed in outrage – he had played the perfect little boyfriend for her and that still wasn’t enough? What in hell would it take?

Then he noticed it. As she started walking up the steps, his eyes fell on the rectangular shape outlined by the denim of her pants. Catching up with her, he stopped her and slid his fingers in her pocket, holding her in place when she tried to escape.

“Spike! What are you…”

He finally pulled the lighter out and gave her a hard look. He didn’t trust himself to say a word, so he left her there and grabbed his coat in the entrance, pulling his cigarettes out as soon as he was outside and ignoring her as she called his name. He was done with playing. Tired of that good boy costume he had been trying to wear for her to fit in her life. That wasn’t him. A nine to five job wasn’t him. The bloody glasses on his nose weren’t him, nor the stupid curls that fell in front of his eyes with every bit of wind. Time to let the real Spike out for a stroll.

Angrily unwrapping the bandage on his arm and getting rid of it, he went to the Magic Box, and stayed there just long enough to tell Anya he was taking the day off, ignoring her when she started to demand an explanation. Then he went to the optometrist to get his contact lenses. He had meant to run there during his lunch break anyway, having finally received the notice that his contacts were ready. Slipping the glasses off his nose and shoving them in his pocket was a relief. All that was left was the hair; he could have done it himself, but that would have meant going home and he wasn’t sure whether Buffy would be there or not. He didn’t want to see her quite yet. Didn’t want her to see him until he felt like himself again, if only in appearances. 

A little more than two hours later, his hair was cut short, bleached, slicked back with gel, and he felt like Spike again and couldn’t wait for Buffy to see him, couldn’t wait to see her reaction. Would she be pissed off by the change? Or would she appreciate the return of the Big Bad, or whatever approximation—

He never saw the ray that hit him as he walked out of the hairdresser shop. And he didn’t see himself much after being struck by it.

Disconcerted, he tried to understand what had happened, a little amused that his efforts to look like the man he wanted to be had been reduced to nothing. That was the Hellmouth for you.

He dropped by the Magic Box; scaring Harris was fun for a while, but once he had given him and Anya the details to figure things out, he was off again. Even if he had told Buffy not to fret about Social Services, he was somewhat worried himself. Maybe dropping by the woman’s office and checking exactly what she had written down while they had talked would help. And if Spike didn’t like what she had written… well, he was rather good at imitating other people’s handwriting.

*****

Her heart was beating a worried staccato when Buffy pushed open the door of the crypt. It was her last resort. She had already been everywhere she had thought Spike might be and hadn’t found him. She had kept the crypt for last, more or less consciously. That was where she had hurt him, marked him by simply forgetting not to hold her strength in check. It was also where he had threatened to live if she didn’t let him have his way. She had – and he had gotten hurt the first night.

“Spike?” she called, closing the door behind her by pure reflex. Nothing but silence answered her. “Spike, if you’re here, I need to talk to you, it’s important.”

Listening attentively for any sound that might give away his presence, she stepped farther into the crypt, and then down the ladder. The torches were lit, as were a few candles. It looked like someone had been cleaning up the room. If he wasn’t here now, he had at least been there earlier. Did it mean he wanted to live here again?

“I’m sorry about this morning,” she tried, more quietly now, as she looked around aimlessly. “I was so upset about that woman’s visit and what she said and…”

There was nothing but the sound of her voice and steps in the room. “And you’re not here,” she finished, sitting on the edge of the bed and hiding her face in her hands. She was tired, so tired of speaking and not being heard. Tired of feeling so alone all the time, sometimes even when Spike was with her. Shouldn’t that have stopped when he had returned? She had been so happy to have him back. Why was everything so difficult still? Why couldn’t it be like it had been before?

She knew why, of course, and she had tried hard to adapt and take care of his new human self. She had tried to help him forget, both where he had been after he had died and what he had been before that. But he was fighting her every step of the way. Worse, he wasn’t forgetting anything. And neither was she.

Tears started to sting her eyes, and she shut them tight, refusing to cry. Crying wouldn’t help a thing. She had cried for five months, and in the end, even when things should have improved, they really hadn’t.

“I miss you,” she murmured, her voice breaking as it had so often in the past. “Why aren’t you here?”

How many times had she said those words, speaking to the night air or to a cold slab of marble, waiting for an answer that had never come?

This time, an answer did come, in the form of soft fingers caressing her hair. The hand slid to her cheek as she looked up, blinking at the nothingness in front of her. Instinctively, she brought her hand up to the one cupping her face and held on to it, afraid she would lose Spike if he severed the contact.

“Spike?” she said, standing and reaching out for him with her free hand. Her fingers brushed against leather and she gripped that too, stepping closer to him. “God, I thought I had lost you again.”

Her last words were muffled against his chest and she closed her eyes, taking comfort in the familiar feel and scent of him.

“I’m here, luv,” he breathed against the top of her head. “’M always here. Always will be. Always for you.”

Eyes tearing up again behind her closed eyelids, she raised her face toward his, searching and finding his lips with the same desperation. In a minute, she would tell him about the danger he was in. In a minute, she would try again to keep him safe. But for the moment, all she wanted was him. Feel him. Touch him. Kiss him. Have him in her arms again, and not fear that she was losing him. Just for a moment, forget her fears, forget that deep ache inside her chest that never quite seemed to go away, and just be with him.

He let out a quiet sigh when their lips met, and immediately pressed harder against her mouth, his tongue seeking entrance. She let him in, clinging a little more to him and trying to pull him closer to her. He pressed forward into her, his cock hard against her belly, and their mouths broke apart as she lost her balance and tumbled backwards onto the bed, pulling him with her.

“Want you,” he murmured, the words hot against her throat. A small part of her tried to protest and remind her – there was something important she needed to tell him – but his tongue flicked against the scars on her neck. First the oldest ones, the ones he had given to her while delirious, then on the other side her mating scar, and everything that wasn’t him ceased to exist as the threads of want coursed through her.

It was only the second time since his return that he had touched these scars. He used to do it all the time, and make her melt in his arms with the tip of his tongue or the scrape of his teeth against the so sensitive skin. But he had seemed to avoid touching her there since he had come back. It was only a couple of days earlier, when they had spent the night in his abandoned crypt, that he had reminded her how erotic the touch to a bite mark could be; that he had laid his lips on his Mating marks for the first time since claiming her. Buffy wished her own mark were still present on his neck.

Her mind barely registered, when she slid her hands from his shoulders to the back of his head, that the curls she had gotten used to weren’t there anymore. The feel of the gel was too familiar under her fingers for her to stop and think about it, especially when Spike was mouthing her breast through the thin layers of her blouse and bra, wetting the fabric and making her nipple peak against it. She groaned when his teeth carefully closed on the hard bud, both at the sensation and because there were too many clothes between them.

“I want to feel you,” she mumbled, already pushing at his duster, her task made more complicated by the fact that she couldn’t see him.

“Oh, you’re going to, luv,” he replied, his voice husky as his unseen hands made short work of her clothes before retreating to help her with his own. It was strange not to see him, a little disorientating, and she eventually closed her eyes as he pushed her back and settled between her thighs. They had played with blindfolds, once or twice. It was the same, she told herself. All she had to do was use her hands to touch, and let herself feel him, feel the silk of his skin and the strength of his flesh.

She cried out when he pushed into her, hard, fast, and unexpectedly. She clutched at his shoulders as he leaned down to kiss her, capturing her mouth and her wordless shout. His tongue mimicked the movement of his hips, slow but deep thrusts, and Buffy found herself responding to it, arching against him to increase the contact.

Why couldn’t it always be that easy, a distant part of her asked even as she lost herself in the feelings he raised in her. There was no need to talk, now. No need for explanations, or place for misunderstanding. Their bodies knew each other, they always would, and nothing could ever change that.

*****

_Making love to her was a bloody revelation. Because it was as it had once been, in our more passionate moments, and a couple of bruises or scratch marks didn’t take anything from it, quite the contrary. It wasn’t as rough as it had been two days earlier, neither of us was that wound up or angry, but we didn’t hold back either. We made love, or fucked, whatever you want to call it, and we were ourselves. Not trying to hold on to an illusion, or relive the past – just being Buffy and Spike. Thing is, we were both closer to what we had been a year earlier than to what we were now every day._

_The second time was softer, more tender, and just…I’m not sure I can describe it. We had calmed down the flames to a quieter but just as strong burn, and with each touch, it was as though we were rediscovering each other, relearning bodies and sighs. It was just as wonderful as our rougher play, but…_

_Yeah, I guess you can say that I have a kink for being marked. I always considered marks left on me during lovemaking proofs that I belonged, that someone wanted me enough to make me their own. Brief reminders I could look at and touch that simply made me feel again like someone wanted me that much. Loved me that much._

_And yeah, maybe I have a thing for leaving marks too. Not big ones, mind you. Nothing that would hurt, nothing that would last more than a day on her Slayer body. But my fingers leaving red marks on her hips because I held her that tight, that doesn’t always happen by accident. As a vamp, I had always had the marks on her throat to look at, the scars where I had bitten her, and just seeing them, or touching them, had always made me feel like she was mine, just a bit, my girl even when she was anything but. As a human though, I didn’t feel like they were really my marks anymore, so maybe I was a bit overenthusiastic about leaving the proof on her body that I had touched her. And she didn’t seem to mind._

_I think I’ve gone on a slight tangent here. What were we talking about again?_

_Oh, yes._

_So, she came to the crypt, and…_

_Why was I at the crypt? Because I was trying to fix it, in case I decided to live there. She had said she wanted to patrol alone that night, and that was going back on her promise. I’ll take a lot from her, but not that._

_But then, she was so bloody miserable that all I wanted when I saw her was take all the badness away and make her feel better. Make her happy, like I used to. We made love. Twice. And I wouldn’t have minded a repeat, except that she suddenly remembered why she had come to find me, and that we needed to get me visible again before I turned into rice pudding. I’m not sure if she meant that literally, but literal or not, the prospect wasn’t exactly appealing._

_I managed to get dressed, and let me tell you that was something seeing how I couldn’t see my clothes. We went to the store. Harris told us Willow had been kidnapped and we needed to go to a video games arcade for a rendezvous with the kidnappers who wanted to make me visible again. Yeah, I found that weird too._

_To make a boring story a bit shorter, we went there, there was some fighting, I was made visible again and we finally discovered who our terrible enemies were. Three nerds. And I think I know enough about nerds to have a right to call them pathetic. Willow apparently did the research bit, without magicking her way through things, which earned her brownies points from Buffy._

_The important thing though was the way Buffy’s eyes lit up when she saw me, no glasses and bleached hair again. She had given me the same look on that goddamn tower when she had first seen me. It was the look she had given Spike – the old Spike, vampire Spike – too many times to count, the latest of them instants before we had mated. It broke my heart, because I realized she hadn’t looked at me like that in what felt like forever, but it also gave me hope, more hope than I had had in months. I could be Spike again for her. I could be her Spike. I could be who I used to be, what she loved in me, rather than this shell I couldn’t even recognize myself._

_All that in a simple look._

_Salvation and damnation in a single instant._


	13. Jobs

Buffy felt ridiculous, and the three pairs of eyes scrutinizing her were not helping. Standing in her living room, she felt like she was on trial.

“You look very… professional,” Tara offered, the tone of her voice questioning her own words.

Dawn snorted. “Yeah, professional. Definitely. The hat is really what gives class to the whole outfit.”

After rolling her eyes at her sister, Buffy looked at Spike, waiting for his verdict. Leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, he hadn’t said a word yet; he didn’t need to, the expression on his face made his opinion quite clear. He had been rather vocal two nights earlier when she had told him about the job she had found, but his disapproval had not swayed her. She needed to start earning her own paycheck rather than relying solely on his to support Dawn and her. Her encounter with the woman from Social Services had made her realize as much.

She was going to have a second chance; apparently, Mrs. Kroger had taken an unexpected leave of absence and someone else would come visit the household because her notes had been lost. This time, everything would be perfect. After some creative thinking she had figured out how to juggle her classes and an almost full time job in the exciting world of fast food. Spike, to say the least, had not shown much enthusiasm about it.

*****

_  
“You’re going get yourself killed,” Spike grumbled unhappily._

_Buffy shook her head. “Having a job while taking classes never killed anyone.”_

_“Perhaps. But other people don’t have Slayer duties after their late shift.”_

_The fact that they were patrolling as he pointed this out somehow seemed to give more weight to his words, but she couldn’t change her mind now._

_“It’s not like it’s going to be hard work. Just flipping burgers and smiling at people. How hard can it be?”_

_The look he gave her made it clear what he thought of that argument, and to tell the truth she wasn’t convinced herself. Some days were going to be long. But he would patrol with her, and that would make things easier for her. She had pretty much given up hope by now that he would stay home, and when she looked at him when they patrolled together and saw his newly bleached hair practically gleaming in the moonlight, it was easier to forget that he wasn’t immortal anymore. She still worried a lot, that hadn’t changed; she was just too tired of fighting with him._

_“I just don’t see why we can’t keep going like we have so far,” he complained. “I know my job doesn’t leave a lot of money for fun, but we’ve been doing all right.”_

_Buffy privately conceded that they had, but then the sale of her mother’s car and Tara’s contribution to the groceries shopping had helped. What would happen when the extra money dried up, or when Tara moved out of the house?_

_“It’s just not fair to you,” she said, trying not to sigh. “If you work you should at least be able to buy stuff for yourself rather than spend it all on Dawn and me.”_

_“I’m not complaining about it, am I? ‘Got everything I want. Perfect life.”_

_But his last words were bitter, and he didn’t look at her as he said so. She let the subject drop, trying instead to cheer him up by describing the ridiculous dresses Anya was going to make her bridesmaids wear. He remained sullen for a moment, but eventually, he made a visible effort to brighten up, and for a little while all was right in the world._

*****

“You’re going to be late.”

Spike’s comment startled Buffy out of her thoughts and she practically ran out of the house, throwing a goodbye after her. It probably wasn’t a good idea to be late for her first day.

She managed to arrive at the Double Meat Palace on time. The training was boring and just a little gory; her co-workers were drones; and the supervisor was… Manny. That was the best thing she could say about him. Still, she listened, learned, and tried to blend in a little in the drone culture. After an hour, she was ready to quit. But she didn’t.

Her shift at the register had been long already when three new visitors entered the almost empty restaurant; so long, that it took a few seconds for her mind to process that she knew those people, and they weren’t just customers. She smiled as Willow, Xander, and Anya came over to her, and she made small talk with them while keeping an eye out for Manny. She was beginning to politely loathe the manager.

Just as the Scoobies were getting ready to leave, Dawn and Tara arrived. Dawn didn’t look mad, which was an improvement over her daily moods, but that wasn’t the best part; they all pretended not to watch and grin goofily when Willow and Tara exchanged a few tentative words.

Buffy had told Tara, not very subtly perhaps, about how much better Willow was doing, and how she had been a tremendous, non-magical help with Spike’s little invisibility problem. Tara had seemed to be glad, even though she had tried to hide it. Unless Buffy was mistaken, the two women still had strong feelings for each other, and maybe they would end up together again, some day, now that Willow had given up on magic.

Soon, too soon maybe, everyone she knew had left, and a cold fist closed around Buffy’s heart as she realized that the whole gang had come by to visit her and wish her luck – the whole gang except for Spike. Her own boyfriend had not deemed it necessary to drop by. The others must have invited him to come along; she was certain they had, and it made her feel even worse to realize that. She knew he had been disappointed when she had told him she had found a job; she understood he liked providing for her and Dawn, and she didn’t mind his help in that regard. But Social Services had seemed to frown on the arrangement, and there was no way she would lose Dawn if there was something she could do to prevent it. A few hours of work before or after her classes and on the weekend was a small price to pay to keep Dawn with her.

*****

From where he stood across the street from the fast food so-called restaurant, Spike watched Buffy’s friends leave, just as he had watched them enter. He had been invited to join them for their planned visit Buffy to encourage her, but he had declined. Even after almost four years of fighting at their sides, he still felt as if they were Buffy’s friends, not his; the fact that he was standing there, alive and breathing, because of them did not endear them to him any further. Far from it. The only one of the lot he could bear at that moment was Tara, and her acknowledgment that they had played with forces bigger than what they could understand had a lot to do with it.

A cigarette dangling from his lips, he remained outside the Double Meat Palace for a while longer after the others had left, wondering whether he ought to go in or not. On one hand, he wanted to see Buffy very badly; on the other, he still hated that she worked there and didn’t want to give her the impression that he approved.

In the end, he didn’t go in, but instead, he was waiting by the employees’ entrance when she walked out at nightfall. She looked exhausted, but her face split in a huge grin when she saw him, and all his snarky remarks disappeared.

“You came!”

Arms thrown around his neck and lips pressed against his prevented him from replying that of course, he had come. He couldn’t not have come.

She was exhausted, he could tell as much, but she insisted on patrol anyway. He didn’t object; he had been waiting too long for her to finally accept his presence at her side to complain now. He listened as she told him of her day, biting back his remarks that she didn’t have to work when he heard in her voice how much she hated her job. She never said as much, but he knew her enough to hear beyond her words.

She was working again the next day, as she apparently would most weekends, and Spike quietly wondered how Dawn would react. She had already been upset by how little time Buffy and Spike spent around her now, this job wasn’t going to help anything. After Buffy had left, he offered to spend the day with her, but she declined, claiming she had plans with her school friends. That left him with too much time on his hands and not enough to do. As he was prompt to do in these cases, he started scheming, and for once his plan didn’t turn into a complete disaster.

Dropping by the fast food joint by the end of the afternoon, he entered just long enough to ask Buffy when she would have a break and told her he would be waiting for her outside when she did. It wasn’t long before she joined him, just as night was beginning to fall.

“There’s something wrong going on in this place,” she told him without preamble, throwing a glance back as though afraid someone might hear her.

“You mean something other than people clogging their arteries?” Taking her arm, he pulled her to the side of the building. With dumpsters nearby, it wasn’t the most romantic place, but it was quiet and secluded.

“People have disappeared,” she insisted. “Several of them. And… and… what are you doing?”

Her hand stilled his at the fastenings of her pants, and he gave her an impish grin.

“I just thought I’d make your break a bit more interesting.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, and she blushed prettily.

“I just have a ten minutes break,” she reminded him, trying to bat away his hand that had slid under her shirt and was stroking her side. “And it’s not exactly the best place to… to…”

Her voice failed her as he leaned in, his body barely brushing against hers but making contact in all the right spots.

“To what?” he murmured against the shell of her ear. “Haven’t lost your tongue, have you, luv?”

He didn’t leave her time to answer, and instead, checked for himself by kissing her, his tongue pushing its way in and pulling a quiet moan from her. Encouraged, he resumed his efforts at opening her pants and finally his fingers found warm flesh that became wetter under his skilled touch. After a few instants, she mirrored his actions and unzipped his jeans before carefully pulling his cock out.

The logistics were a bit awkward at first, but once he had gotten rid of her pants and underwear, things became much easier. Much naughtier, too. They didn’t have much time in front of them and they had to be discreet, but they made the best of it, and somehow the thrill of taking his lover where they could be discovered made Spike feel more alive. Sending her back to work, her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen and her eyes still bright with pleasure, almost made up for having to let her go.

*****

_  
That wasn’t the first time we’d played in public places. We used to do it on patrols, sometimes, before I died. But it was the first time since my return and… yeah, it was good. Frantic because we didn’t have much time, and quiet by necessity, but good. It made me want more of the same. Not just to make love to her, but to take the risk of being discovered. Be bad. Pretty lame compared to how bad I had once been, but hey, I guess it was better than nothing._

_But you’ll get to that later, won’t you?_

_Right. So. Back to the fast food of hell…_

_Apparently, if you take the Slayer out of graveyards, the demons follow. Well, it was just one in this case, but a pretty nasty one, from what I heard. I never got to see it. She got rid of the bugger with Willow’s help, and I never was invited to lend a hand._

_What do you mean, I was? She didn’t ask me to research anything, did she?_

_Well, yeah, I was in the Magic Box, but…_

_Fine. Whatever. Believe I didn’t want to help if that’s what you want. Except you’re wrong. I would have helped, if there had been anything I could have done. And scientific experiments? Not so much my forte. So when Willow took over I went home to be with Dawn rather than stay and watch…_

_What now?_

_No, my leaving had nothing to do with Willow._

_No, it…_

_OK, maybe a little. I was still pissed at her; I can admit it. Wouldn’t you be if someone decided to play God with you? Repeatedly? Because that’s what Willow had been doing with me, ever since she had given me back my soul by accident. Think about it. The soul thing. Then her wishing spree that had Buffy and I engaged for just long enough to hurt. Bringing me back. The memory spell. All of it made me pretty wary around her, yeah._

_I suppose deep down she had had only good intentions, even when she messed with our memories. But the fact is, she made things more complicated than I had ever thought they could be. I’ve forgiven her since, hard not to seeing what happened, but at the time I was too angry, too hurt, too bloody confused to think rationally where she was concerned._

_So yes, I went home so that I wouldn’t have to be around her, and I suppose it’s my fault I never got to help with the fast food of hell demon. There. I said it. Happy?_

_Dawn was moody when I got home; nothing new there, but I would have thought she’d be glad I had come home to have dinner with her. I understood what was up with her when Tara showed me the mail and told me Dawn had looked through it. There was a letter in there from London._

_In short, the Council was finally offering me that training and job Giles had told me about months earlier. Apparently, not everyone had been in on the offer, and there had been some dissension about letting an ex-vampire into the organization, even with the knowledge I could have given them. That was why it had taken them so long to finally give me a formal offer; they had probably had a dozen poncy meetings and talked things through forward and backward before finally reaching an agreement._

_I read the letter, and read it again, and while the salary they offered me was the kind of number that would have made some things much easier, the time frame they gave for my training wasn’t as satisfactory. A year, give or take a few weeks. That meant a year away from Buffy before I could be her Watcher. A year of being unable to help her and risking losing her every night while I was gone. Slayers don’t live long, I know that from firsthand experience. She was already defying the odds. I can’t say I liked the idea of leaving for so long._

_At the same time though…some time apart might have done us some good. And there’s no way she could have confined me at home upon my return, not if I was officially her Watcher. And did I mention the money was good?_

_I didn’t tell her about it, that night. Nor did I say a thing over the following days. I had promised myself I’d keep quiet until her birthday. Christmas hadn’t been particularly joyful, and I was hoping to make up for it on her birthday. Telling her I was leaving right after might have made things worse._

_I regretted not telling her pretty soon, though. She had gotten fired when fighting the bugger from hell, but she managed to get hired again at that damn fast food place, and I still hated that she worked there. If I had told her I would sign up with the Council and she didn’t need to work…_

_Would she have quit? I’d like to think she would have, but who knows. Maybe she needed not to depend on me for money to allow herself to depend on me for other things, like patrols. I didn’t fight her on it any more, even if I hated that job for her. And for a little while, things calmed down.  
_


	14. Useless

“If we keep ending up in the crypt, I’m thinking I might as well fix it.”

Still trying to catch her breath, Buffy sat up a little on the bed, leaning back on her elbows. She wasn’t sure when exactly Spike had pulled a sheet over her body, but she was grateful for it, the air in the crypt was rather cool, and with him out of the bed she didn’t have his warmth to share anymore. 

“A couple of rugs, maybe,” Spike continued musing as he picked up their clothes and threw them at the foot of the bed. He offered her a rather nice view of his backside as he bent to retrieve her underwear and she squeezed her legs together, offering herself just a hint of the friction she was beginning to crave again.

They had been patrolling together after her late shift at the Double Meat Palace, and he had been trying to convince her she didn’t need to work, and that he could provide for her and Dawn. She wasn’t too sure how they had gone from arguing to stumbling into his old crypt and tearing at each other’s clothes, but it wasn’t the first time it had happened. She didn’t like arguing with him, but the passionate, almost raw sex sessions that followed increasingly often more than made up for it. Now if they could get that without arguing first…

“We should go home,” she sighed, reaching for her clothes. “It’s getting late.”

He looked back from where he was apparently searching for something in an old cardboard box. “Already? Let’s just stay a little longer, luv. I’ll make sure you don’t regret it.”

She could see a glimpse of metal in his hand as he straightened and walked back toward the bed, grinning like a cat about to snag the canary.

“Come on, Spike, we shouldn’t even have come here in the first place. We’ve got a fine bed at home…”

“And Dawn and Tara just two doors away,” he cut in with a slight snort. “What do you think they’d say if they heard you shout like you did fifteen minutes ago?”

She could feel her cheeks flush at his words, and even more at the leer he directed at her, but before she could find anything to say he had knelt on the bed just inches from her, and was presenting, dangling from his finger, the metal handcuffs she had caught a glimpse of before. Her throat tightened at the sight of them, and she turned wide eyes to him.

“What do you think they’d say,” he continued, practically purring, “if they knew what games we play?”

Buffy wanted to say no, she really did, they had to go home before Dawn got worried and…

… and Spike never seemed to be so amorous in Revello, for some reason. They made love there; here, they fucked. It was still love in each touch, each thrust, each bite or kiss, but it was somehow more, closer to what they had once shared. Not the same, but close enough that she could pretend.

*****

Standing on the catwalk at the Bronze, Spike had a strange feeling of déjà vu. He had been there before, watching Buffy and her gang on the dance floor. On the outside, looking in, not really wanting to be included, rather wishing she would come to him. Yes, the feeling was definitely familiar, and somehow it was comforting; human or vampire, he was still the same, deep down, wasn’t he?

The outing had been a set up from Buffy and Xander to try to get Willow and Tara talk to each other, and start making up, maybe. They both probably knew it; their friends were anything but subtle. Willow seemed nervous, dancing with Buffy, Xander and Anya, her eyes darting every so often toward the entrance. Tara had promised she would come, after much pleading on Buffy’s part, but she hadn’t said when. It might have been petty, but Spike almost hoped she wouldn’t show up. He didn’t think being with Willow would make Tara any happier, and he didn’t particularly care about Willow’s poor broken heart. After all, she didn’t seem to care much about what he felt, so why should he care about her?

Eventually, Tara showed up, and even from where he stood Spike could see that she was nervous as hell. They all sat down and ordered drinks, and for a little while it almost looked like the group was back as it had once been, except for Tara and Willow barely talking, and pretending that they weren’t glancing at each other every few seconds. Harris and his girl were the first to leave to get back to the dance floor. Buffy only stayed a moment longer, and Spike could read his name on her lips as she excused herself and left the broken couple to see if they could mend things. It couldn’t be that easy, could it?

“We missed you down there,” Buffy said as she leaned against the railway next to him, her arm close enough to touch his.

“Didn’t look like it,” he commented flatly.

“ _I_ missed you,” she insisted, and Spike bit his tongue not to say again that it hadn’t looked like she had.

“It’d be nice if they got back together,” she said after a few seconds, clearly talking about Tara and Willow since her eyes remained on them. Unwilling to share his thoughts about them, Spike merely let out a noncommittal noise as he pushed away from the railing and moved to stand behind Buffy. She shivered when his chest brushed against her back, and it only encouraged him.

“Remember,” he murmured just behind her ear, so close that his lips touched her earlobe, “almost two years ago? One of those bloody nerds sang for us. And I told you…”

He paused, waiting to see if she remembered, his hands running lightly over her hips and sides. She took a deep breath before she answered in a murmur.

“You told me you loved me.”

She started turning toward him, but he stilled her, keeping her back to him.

“I had told you before, but you didn’t quite believe me until that night, did you?”

She was trembling, but he wasn’t sure whether it was because of his words or because his hand had slid down the length of her skirt and was coming back up, pulling the hem along.

“I didn’t want to believe,” she acquiesced. “I was afraid to.”

Grateful for the semi-darkness around them and the solitude that was theirs on the catwalk, Spike left her skirt bunched up at the small of her back and caressed her almost bare ass slowly, delighting in the way she tensed at first, then melted into his touch. Easily finding their way beneath her thong, his fingers slid lower, to where wetness was seeping into the fabric. She let out a breathy “ _Spike_ ” when he parted her lips and slid a single finger inside her; it could have been a plea to stop or to continue. He chose to interpret it as the latter.

“You’re not afraid anymore, are you?” he murmured as he pulled back just enough to unzip his jeans and guide his cock out. The position was far from ideal, but he didn’t let that stop him and, nudging her forward a little, pulled her underwear to the side to slowly slide past her folds.

“No,” she breathed, and for a second he thought she was telling him to stop, before he realized she was just answering his question. 

Struggling to keep his movements slow, he fucked her right there, in plain sight, where anyone looking at them would have had little trouble understanding what was going on. The thrill of it was intoxicating, as were the quiet, breathy moans that passed her lips every few seconds. He left a hand on her hip and slid the other around her to her clit, his thumb flicking the hardened nub in the same languid pace as his thrusting.

“You love this, don’t you?” he whispered. “Love being naughty. Love that your friends would be shocked if they knew how naughty you are, but they don’t know. It’s your secret. Our secret. Just like when we were first together and no one knew. Remember, luv? The naughty Slayer and her big bad vampire lover?”

Lowering his face to the crook of her neck, he brushed his lips to the marks that had made her, for just a few hours, his mate. She shook at the simple touch; she was close, so very close, and when he scraped blunt teeth against the barely raised scars, she came with a choked cry and took him along with her.

*****

“All I’m saying is, we can’t do that kind of thing again.”

Buffy’s frustration was creeping up in her voice, heightened by the fact that Spike had just lit up a cigarette. She hated that he was playing dumb and refusing to hear her. 

“What kind of thing?” he replied, sounding, of all things, amused. “Fuck?”

“You know what I mean.” She ground her teeth and continued advancing through the graveyard. “What we did last night, where anyone could have seen us…”

“But that was the point, wasn’t it?” 

Spike’s fingers curled on her forearm and pulled her to a stop. She looked at him, and her irritation only grew at the smirk that was curling his lips. 

“Come on, luv. Just admit it. The thrill of being caught made it all that much better.”

“For you maybe, but not for me,” she spat, lying through her teeth, and turning her back on him, she strode away. He was right, and they both knew it, but that didn’t make what they had done any more acceptable. They couldn’t afford to get caught. Once upon a time, she had loved these games, although Spike had never pushed them as far as he had the previous night, but that time was gone and they had to be responsible now.

It took her a couple of minutes to realize that Spike wasn’t directly behind her anymore, but she didn’t have time to worry about it. A woman’s shout caught her attention and she ran toward it, stumbling into a fight.

That was when things became weird.

First there were two large, robbed demons with the woman; then the woman was gone but Spike was there, fighting alongside Buffy; then she was alone and listening to the woman cry, somewhere out of sight; then she was fighting again, and mistakenly swinging at Spike, who narrowly avoided her fist; then the demons were back, and gone again.

And then she killed the woman.

It was an accident, caused by the confusion of the last few minutes, but the truth was clear and simple. She had killed an innocent woman. Nothing Spike tried to tell her changed that, and in truth she barely heard him as he pleaded with her. 

Nothing would change what she had done.

She was supposed to protect humans, and she had done the exact opposite. She was feeling sick as she went home by herself. As much as she tried, she couldn’t make sense of what had happened. She had tried saving the woman, but in the end she had caused her death. And that wasn’t one of these naughty secrets Spike talked about, one of these things she could keep from everyone. She had to tell. She had to do the right thing. Whatever the consequences.

She tried to explain it to Dawn, but she didn’t understand. Neither did Tara, but her stammering request that Buffy wait until Spike got home did nothing save encourage her to leave before he returned. He would never understand. Funny that, in this one thing, he was so much like the vampire he had once been. She left for the police station, her chest tight from what she was leaving behind, yet knowing it was the right thing to do.

*****

Spike ran all the way from the house on Revello to the police station, scared that he would be too late. He almost hadn’t believed Tara when she had told him what Buffy was up to, but it made sense, in a twisted way. Always doing what she thought was right. Even when it was so clearly the worse thing she could do. Couldn’t she see that it had been nothing more than an accident, and that, in the grand scheme of things, she had saved thousands of people since she had been called, and one slip up couldn’t change that?

That was what he tried to explain to her, when he caught up with her in the darkened alley by the police station, but she refused to listen to him, as she had earlier.

“For you, one death may not be important,” she explained, pulling her hand free of his. “But for me it is. I can’t pretend it didn’t happen.”

“Why not?” he shot back. “It’s not like anyone will know.”

“They’ll find her body, and then they will know.”

Her patient tone was close to enraging him but he struggled to keep his calm as he shook his head. “There’s no body, Buffy. She’s gone, and…”

“What did you do?”

He hated the horror that transpired in her voice, but answered still as calmly as he could. “I took care of it.”

“You took care…” Her eyes widened, and it wasn’t horror anymore he could see in them, but rather plain anger. “Are you insane?” she shouted. “You can’t do things like that anymore! You’re human, for crying out loud; it’s time you start acting like it!”

He was going to shout back – what, he didn’t know, but he couldn’t let her fling his heartbeat in his face every time he did something she didn’t like – when voices echoed in the alley, two policemen discussing a body that had been found in the river. Spike swore even as the horror in Buffy’s eyes returned. It angered him as much as what she had said, as much as what she had been about to do. Couldn’t she see that he had done it for her? Couldn’t she understand that he had already given his life for her, and wouldn’t hesitate to do so again? Apparently not, if she was ready to abandon him without looking back.

“Does being human mean you can leave those you love behind because of an accident?” he asked her, his voice as ice. “Because if that’s it, I can do it too.”

Standing straight and proud despite the searing ache in his heart and soul, he pushed past her, ready to turn himself in. His fingerprints had to be on the body, they would find him soon enough even if he didn’t go to the police now.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Buffy had caught up with him and was now standing in his way, her whole body screaming her anger.

“The same thing you were ready to do,” he retorted as he walked around her. Her hand closed on his shoulder and he shrugged it off. It returned and grabbed his wrist, pulling him back roughly. He tried to free himself again, but she was holding on tight, and they struggled like this for a few moments, each of them telling the other to stop acting like an idiot, neither listening. She finally seemed to have enough because she let go of her grip and instead pushed him away. Startled by the unexpected move, Spike stumbled backwards; he managed not to fall but his head hit the wall behind him hard.

Stunned by the blow, he brought a hand to the back of his head. His fingers were red and sticky when he looked at them, and it took him a few seconds to realize it was his blood staining them. He glanced up at Buffy, and the shock and apology displayed plainly on her face made it clear that she had had no trouble recognizing the blood for what it was.

“I’m not going to kill anyone else,” she murmured, her voice shaking not nearly as much as she was. “And especially not you.”

All Spike could do was watch her go.

*****

_I’ve never felt as useless in my life as I did that night._

_And that’s all I’ve got to say about it. Can we go ahead to…_

_Yeah, didn’t think so. Do you always need to twist the knife? Can’t leave well enough alone, can you? You’ve got to make it hurt. I bet they’d like this much better if you skipped over the doom and gloom and just told about the good parts. You’re going to lose them before this is over, you know? And it’s not like they care what was going on in my head anyway._

_All right, all right. Just give a bloke a moment, would you?_

_Right. Useless. That was me._

_Once again, nothing I said or did made a difference in the end. I couldn’t help thinking that if I had been me, really me, I would have been strong enough to prevent her from going to the police. I’d have held on to her tight enough and not let go until she had gotten some sense into her, or I’d have let her unleash whatever frustrations were eating her on me rather than on herself by police proxy. Either way, she wouldn’t have turned herself in. And I wouldn’t have felt so bloody useless._

_I’m repeating myself? So what? Want me to use another word? How about worthless? Utterly inadequate. A fucking waste of space. A bloody, buggering…_

_Hey, you asked for it. Just telling it as it is. Or was. Whichever._

_Eventually, she didn’t turn herself in. She heard something in the police station and figured things out. I didn’t know about that until the next day, though, when she told the whole gang, because I took my brain-splitting headache home rather than following to watch her announce her guilt to the world. Was all quiet and stealthy, entering through the back door, and sat down in the kitchen in the dark. I didn’t want to go in and risk Dawn hearing me; I wouldn’t have known what to tell her about Buffy. I could hear Tara watching the telly in the living room and didn’t want to see her either; I knew if I talked to her I’d make a bloody show of myself. So I just stayed there. And waited. Not sure what I was waiting for. A phone call, maybe. Buffy asking me to come bail her out. Anything at all. All I got was a cat, a bloody insisting one at that, who rubbed against my legs until I let him climb on my lap. Warm, purring, but ultimately cold comfort._

_And then… she came back. She slipped into the house so quietly, I didn’t hear her until Tara turned off the telly and talked to her. And then I heard her, all right. I heard more than I had bargained for. More than I had been ready to hear._

_Of course you want me to say what I heard, huh?_

_Thought so. Sadist._

_I didn’t hear what they said at first. When Buffy started crying, though, she got my full attention. Purr let out an outraged screech as I stood up and dislodged him, but I didn’t care. All I wanted was to get to her, and stop her tears. Then I heard what she was saying, and I froze. I remember I had to lean against the kitchen wall or my knees would have given up. I didn’t want to hear a word more, but I couldn’t help it, and…_

_Yes, I’m getting to it, stop nagging me._

_She said… Hurts just thinking about it, even today. But I don’t think I’ll ever forget._

_“Why can’t it be the same as before? We were so good together, and it was all just… perfect.”_

_“It’ll get better, Buffy. Spike is still adjusting, it… It’s been a big change for him. But it’ll all get better, you’ll see. Give him time, and he’ll be the same old Spike.”_

_“But he won’t! He’ll never be the same again. Nothing will ever be the same. And we try and pretend and dance around each other, but in the end it’s like starting from scratch. Except it never was that hard and painful the first time around.”_

_“Buffy…”_

_“I love him. God, I love him so much. But why does it hurt still? Why doesn’t it stop?”_

_Tara couldn’t answer that._

_Neither could I._

_I know a bit more, today. But even if I had understood back then, I couldn’t have done a thing._

_They eventually went upstairs, and I stayed where I was for hours, trying to understand. Trying to come to grips with the fact that Buffy was just as bloody miserable as I was, which I hadn’t fully realized until that moment. Trying to decide if there was anything I could do to make things better._

_I thought of leaving her, that night, since it was so blindingly clear that she wasn’t happy with me. I thought of London, too; not as definitive, and maybe enough to save what we had left. I thought of a couple more possibilities, too. But I knew already that she wouldn’t have agreed to any of it, and in the end the idea of making her even more miserable than she already was kept me from making any decision._


	15. Too Far Away

Set in a vase on the dining table, the bouquet was huge. Purr had come by earlier, jumped on Spike’s lap, taken a curious look at the flowers, and walked away with his tail high as though he was saying he was prettier. And Spike was spending way too much time watching the cat if he was beginning to put thoughts in Purr’s head.

Sitting at the table in front of the flowers, he watched the small white card waiting to be picked up by the birthday girl. They were truly beautiful flowers, an exotic, colorful mix, as vibrant as Buffy was. He wished he had bought them himself. His own gift paled in comparison to Giles’. He wasn’t even sure if he wanted to give it to Buffy.

She hadn’t seen the flowers yet, they had arrived in the afternoon while they were both at work and Dawn had signed for them before putting them on display. She had shown them to Spike as soon as he had returned from the Magic Box. She had shown him, also, with far less enthusiasm, the letter that had arrived for him from England.

It contained a letter welcoming him to the Watchers’ Council training program and giving him instructions as to where to report upon his arrival in London, ten days later. A plane ticket was enclosed; one-way. He had been playing with it ever since, pulling it out of the envelope, letting his fingers run idly over it, opening it every now and then to look at the name imprinted on it, the date, the destination.

He hadn’t been in London in quite some time. The last time had been in the early eighties; Dru had insisted they had to be there to celebrate the hundredth anniversary of his turning. It had always surprised him that she remembered the year, let alone the date she had chosen him. They had celebrated with laughs, sex, and blood, until they had attracted too much attention and had left for the continent. To return there now would feel quite strange.

“So you’re leaving?”

His eyes left the flowers to find Dawn leaning against a wall. Her gaze was on the plane ticket in his hands.

“In a few days,” he acquiesced with a nod. “But not for good, I’ll be back before you know it.”

She was nibbling on her bottom lip and he could tell she wanted to say something; smiling gently at her, he urged her on.

“What is it, Bit?”

She took a deep breath, and then blurted out: “Are you leaving Buffy?”

The question surprised him so much that he stared at her for a few seconds. “Am I… No! Of course not! Why would you think so?”

“Don’t know,” she shrugged. “The whole, going to the other side of the planet without her, maybe.”

“It’s not like that.”

Discussing his love life with Buffy’s kid sister was hardly on Spike list of things to do, but she didn’t leave him much of a choice.

“I’m not blind, Spike,” she said darkly as she approached the table. “I see what’s going on between you two. Now you’re leaving… I can put two and two together.”

“Again, it’s not like that,” Spike repeated with a sigh. “We’ve had problems, yeah, but we’re not that bad. And maybe a few months apart will help us clear things up. So you see, it’ll all work out for the best.”

He was trying to convince himself as well as her, and he was quite aware of it; he didn’t seem to have much luck with either.

*****

Buffy’s track record on her birthday was bad, and she had been waiting even since the previous night with some trepidation for the one thing that would wreck everything. But as she returned home after her afternoon shift at the Double Meat Palace, everything seemed to be going just fine. She had had an early present the previous night when a demon she had slain had left her with a beautiful sword. Then, that morning, she had received her grade for an exam she had been sure she had failed, and it hadn’t had turned out too bad at all. Her shift at the fast food restaurant had been surprisingly restful – or maybe she had reached the point where the oil fumes had killed too many of her brain cells for her to care about whiny kids anymore. Definitely a perfect day so far, and in just a couple of hours her friends would be coming over for a little celebration; she had just enough time to wash away the greasy scent off her hair and skin.

The perfect day however came to an end as she stepped into the house; before she even closed the door behind her, she heard Dawn and Spike talking in the dining room, and their words knocked the air out of her as surely as a punch would have.

“I see what’s going on between you two. Now you’re leaving… I can put two and two together.”

“Again, it’s not like that. We’ve had problems, yeah, but we’re not that bad. And maybe a few months apart will help us clear things up. So you see, it’ll all work out for the best.”

“I can’t lose you too, Spike. Buffy’s barely there for me and…”

For a moment, Buffy thought she was going to be sick. Spike was leaving? They were going to be spending months apart? What was going on that Dawn knew about when she herself didn’t? And what did she mean, Buffy wasn’t there for her?

“Happy birthday, Buffy!”

Tara’s exclamation from behind her pulled Buffy out of her shock and she managed to smile and thank her friend. Within seconds, Dawn and Spike had joined them in the entrance, and Buffy was looking for clues on their faces as to what she had overheard. She saw nothing but smiles.

All evening long, she continued observing them, and more than once Willow or Xander asked her if she was all right. She invariably brushed their concerns away, smiling brightly when she was barely keeping the tears at bay, and kept wishing that she had misunderstood them and that there was a perfectly logical explanation to it all, if she would just ask. For hours, she worked up her courage only to ask finally as morning was ringing in.

The birthday bash had transformed overnight into a slumber party. Willow and Tara were sitting on the staircase and had been talking quietly for hours. Anya had fallen asleep on the sofa. Dawn and Xander were both sitting on the floor in front of the television watching the morning cartoons. Buffy and Spike were on the floor too, behind the sofa, playing cards in near silence. Purr had fallen asleep across her lap, and Buffy was stroking him between turns, feeling the rumble of his purring under her fingers. It all felt extremely cozy, and would have made for a beautiful birthday night if not for that nagging question that she had wanted to ask for hours.

“What did Dawn mean, when she said you’re leaving?”

Spike’s deer caught in headlights look was enough for Buffy to know she hadn’t imagined all of it, and it felt as though a hand was tightening over her heart.

“Is it the Council thing?” she asked without giving him time to answer her first question. “I thought you had given up on that; you haven’t talked about it in forever.”

Putting down his cards on the floor, he shook his head lightly. “I hadn’t given up anything. They took their time answering, and then I didn’t want to tell you and ruin your birthday…”

“So when were you going to tell me?”

He shrugged and answered without meeting her eyes. “In a few days.”

She was still processing his answer, still feeling as though the floor had opened beneath her when Spike stood.

“We all need to go to school or work soon. I better go and get some breakfast ready.”

His retreat to the kitchen didn’t fool her. He was trying to avoid her, to avoid answering her questions or talking to her. She wasn’t going to let him do that. Dislodging Purr from her lap, she went after him, blurting out as soon as she entered the kitchen:

“I don’t want you to go.”

He looked back from where he was standing in front of the fridge and closed it without taking out anything.

“It wouldn’t be for long,” he sighed as he took a seat at the island. “Just a few months and…”

“Just a few months?” she cut in, and immediately lowered her voice when she realized she had almost shouted. “You were _gone_ for just a few months, and I’m not even sure how I managed to survive that long!”

The look he gave her was pure agony. “Don’t say that,” he pleaded.

“It’s the truth,” she insisted as she walked to stand next to him. If she could only make him see how she would feel if she lost him again… “Part of me died when you left.”

He reached to take her hand and weaved his fingers through hers before saying so quietly she barely heard his words: “That was our mating, luv. A part of you _did_ die.” The pain in his voice was there, telling her that he did understand; yet, she could already tell that she wasn’t anywhere near convincing him to stay. “But the thing is, I didn’t leave. I died. If I go to London, you’ll always know I’ll be coming back to you. And we can call each other and…”

Stepping back, she shook her head and interrupted him. “Please. Don’t. I can’t bear the idea of you not being here.”

For long seconds, he simply watched her, and she was beginning to think that, maybe, she had gotten through to him. But when he finally spoke, his words chilled her.

“Are we even together here, Buffy?”

“What do you mean?” she frowned. “Of course we…”

“We fuck, but never in our own bed. We barely ever talk. You won’t let me help you with the money. You barely accept my help on patrol.”

With each word, his voice had gotten colder, and his reproach was clear by the time he ended. Clear, and completely unfair as far as Buffy was concerned.

“You’re the one who always starts things when we’re out of the house,” she pointed out. “And I explained to you about my job, it’s not about you, it’s about Social Services. And I have been taking you on patrols with me, haven’t I? What more do you want?”

He never answered her directly, but with a few more words, he gave her a better insight on what was going on in his heart and mind than she had had in months. An insight that she didn’t particularly enjoy.

“I miss you, Buffy. I miss you every fucking day. And I never knew before that you can miss someone while sleeping in their bed.”

The words were quiet, but Buffy felt each of them as a blow. And adding up everything he had said…

“What… what are you saying? You’re not…”

She could tell that he was as shaken by everything that had transpired as she was when he tried to quiet things down.

“I’m saying that maybe… I don’t know, maybe some time apart would clear things up. Maybe… I really don’t know. I just know this is driving both of us insane.”

It wasn’t making sense. None of it was making sense. Buffy’s mind had shut down, and she just couldn’t understand what was going on. Or maybe, she didn’t want to understand.

The one thing that did make some sort of sense was Spike’s quiet curse and declaration that he needed a cigarette. That, she could understand. 

Except that when he went for the backyard door, he remained standing in front of it without ever being able to reach for the doorknob. It didn’t look like Spike would be going anywhere anytime soon.

*****

_We eventually were free to leave the house, but not before a few more assorted ups and downs. The damn demon trapped in the house with us played slice and dice with my side, Buffy killed it then ranted at me a bit for getting hurt. We figured out that Dawn had accidentally wished us prisoners of the house and that she had a slight sticky finger problem. Anya got really mad about both; she freed us by calling one of her ex-colleagues inside the house, and promised Dawn hell to pay about her loot._

_Honestly, I was mad as much at myself for letting that blade cut me as I was for not having noticed what had been going on with Dawn. I had seen her steal months earlier, but it had never occurred to me that she wouldn’t stop after I had confronted her. We kept that bit between the two of us. No need to make things worse for both of us._

_Once the door of our jail opened, Harris gave Buffy and me a ride to the hospital so that I could be patched up. Tara stayed home with Dawn, and Willow stayed with them until we returned. I’m not sure what went on between the two exes, but they both seemed to be smiling a lot when Willow left. Seems to me, they made their first step on the back together road that night._

_Buffy and me on the other hand…we weren’t quite there yet._

_I can’t say it got worse, though. She apologized to me at the hospital, said that she shouldn’t have ranted at me, that she had only done so because she had been so scared when she had seen my blood and that she was sorry. I can’t say she’s apologized to me that often over the years, so yeah, it was easy to let it go and forgive._

_What we very pointedly didn’t talk about was my departure for London, and it wasn’t because Harris and his bird were there. I don’t think we were ready. But later the next day, when we sat down with Dawn and talked to her, really talked to her, we had to revisit that topic, ready or not, because Dawn asked again if we were breaking up, and if that was why I was going to London._

_And under two slightly tearful pairs of eyes, I made a decision. I wasn’t going anywhere and risk losing what was left of my relationship with Buffy. If things were going to work between us, and I was damn determined to make them work, I needed to be with her, not in bloody England._

_So yeah, I never became a Watcher. Pity, huh?  
_


	16. As He Was

Riding with Riley, as he tracked some demon he needed help fighting, felt very strange to Buffy. She hadn’t thought of him in almost a year, and to see him in front of her at the Double Meat Palace while she was wearing what had to be the most ridiculous uniform in the world, had been both a shock and a humiliation. He had been kind enough not to comment, but she had seen the amusement in his eyes.

“So, what are we hunting?” she asked after slipping on the battle ready fatigues he had offered her.

He rattled off more details than she needed, but she didn’t really pay attention. It was still surreal that he was here at all. She had truly believed she would see not him again after the way he had left Sunnydale.

“So, my intel says you’re still with Spike.”

The comment was too casual; Buffy’s attention snapped back on him again and she observed his closely guarded features. He had once been unable to say Spike’s name without some trace of scorn in his voice. She was rather sure saying it so casually had to be hard for him even now.

“I am,” she replied simply. He did not react in any way, and she could only wonder whether he still had feelings for her, or hopes to see her and Spike break up. Better to put an end to that right away, if it was the case. And while she was at it, there was something she had wished she could have talked to him about before he had left, too.

“And you probably should know that he’s human now…” The car swerved abruptly on the road before Riley could regain control of it, and he threw her a startled look.

“He’s what?”

“Human,” she repeated, her voice hardening. “Same as you. So I’d really appreciate it if you kept sharp objects out of his chest, all right?”

The faintest trace of red in his cheek, and a very quiet “Sorry ‘bout that” were hardly enough, but before Buffy could tell him exactly what she thought of the incident in question, he had brought the car to a halt and they were back in fighting mode. Riley didn’t mention Spike again until they were both suspended in the air from his repelling line.

“So, you truly meant it, I guess. You do love him regardless of what he is, huh?”

Buffy answered with a small smile, unable to understand why his words made her feel so uncomfortable.

Not as uncomfortable, however, as realizing how much she missed fighting next to someone without being scared they would get hurt. And definitely not as awkward as discovering that Riley was married and had told his wife about her, apparently at length.

*****

If Spike, in a moment of acute dementia, had ever felt the need to imagine his next meeting with Riley Finn, he would certainly not have pictured himself with a purring cat on his lap, Dawn’s history homework in front of the two of them on the kitchen table and glasses on his nose, since he was in the process of cleaning his contacts.

He wouldn’t have pictured Buffy standing by Riley’s side either, dressed in the same black garb as he was, when she had been wearing her Double Meat Palace uniform the last he had seen her.

“Spike, Dawn, look who’s back in town,” she said in a voice that screamed of forced perkiness.

Spike simply stared at Riley, who looked back at him with the most annoying smile playing across his lips. Then his gaze slid to the woman who had appeared behind Buffy and Riley; she looked somewhat curious, but didn’t break the tense silence.

“And here’s Riley’s wife, Sam,” Buffy belatedly added, and for some reason Spike managed to breathe just a little more easily. To see his girl next to Riley, the two of them dressed alike and looking more than ever like a matching pair, was not particularly heartwarming.

And neither was the next hour and half; instead, it was excruciating for Spike.

The Scoobies all converged on Revello, Buffy having apparently contacted them on her way home, and they collectively greeted Riley’s return as though their best friend had come back from an overseas trip while Spike ground his teeth and tried not to earn himself more reproachful glares from Buffy. She had not particularly enjoyed Spike casually asking Riley if he was still getting regular suck jobs from cheap vampire whores. The way Spike saw it, the question was perfectly legitimate; and Mrs. Finn had a right to know about her perfect husband’s past, didn’t she?

The whole ordeal took an interesting turn for a few minutes when Sam asked Willow’s magical help in localizing demon eggs before they hatched. Willow declined immediately, and received Tara’s instant support. By the looks these two shared, Spike would have bet that they would be back together before long, not that he cared one way or the other.

What happened next was far less pleasant. Since Willow could not, or would not help, Sam and Riley decided to hunt for their eggs. And Buffy, of course, offered her assistance.

“It might take us a while,” she told Spike as they both rose to follow the Finns outside. “Don’t wait up.”

Frowning, Spike shook his head. “You think I’m going to stay here? Don’t even…”

“We promised Dawnie we wouldn’t leave her alone anymore,” she quietly reminded him with a quick look in Dawn’s direction. Spike followed her gaze to find that Dawn had led Willow to the kitchen and was showing her the history paper she had been working on with Spike.

“I don’t think she’ll mind,” Spike started with a small snort, but Buffy didn’t let him finish.

“That demon was really something,” she said, halfway between cajoling and cautionary. “I’d rather know you’re home and safe.”

 _I could say the same about you_ , Spike wanted to respond, but in the space of two blinks, Buffy had kissed his cheek, run out the door, and disappeared into Riley’s car, leaving Spike to scowl in the doorway. Harris and his girl said their goodbyes as they left too, but Spike barely paid them any mind.

“She… she just wants you to be safe,” Tara’s quiet voice came from next to him, and Spike looked at her with such a hard stare that her eyes widened and she took a step back. Realizing that directing his irritation toward her wouldn’t help, Spike shook his head, shrugging apologetically.

“I know that. Doesn’t make it any easier.”

“She was really scared when you got hurt on her birthday,” she reminded him, and Spike sighed.

“I know,” he repeated, his irritation fading to tiredness. The stitches in his side from the wound he had suffered during Dawn’s wishing spree still weren’t healed yet, and Buffy had taken them as an excuse for the past week to confine him to the house. He hated that it was taking him so long to heal. He hated that she had been patrolling alone all this time. And he could already see how she would try to have him continue staying home, even after he was fully healed.

Morose, he followed Tara to the kitchen, and felt utterly out of place as Dawn followed Willow’s directions in editing the paper he had helped her compose.

“Hey, Bit, I’m going to be out for a while. I need to get some cigarettes. That OK with you?”

She nodded distractedly, and Spike snorted to himself before getting his coat and striding out. Reduced to asking for a teenage girl’s permission before he could go out. His life had turned into a pathetic joke.

Feeling sorry for himself, he went to buy his cigarettes, and, without even realizing what he was doing, walked back home. Only to realize that his steps had taken him to what _used_ to be his home. He was in the crypt before he knew it, sitting on the sarcophagus and absently smoking his way through an entire pack of cigarettes. Predictably, his thoughts revolved around Buffy.

The return of Riley, who was not only hunting demons but also doing it in tandem, left a bitter taste in Spike’s mouth. The wanker had tried warning Buffy about Spike’s supposedly bad intentions; he had been jealous of their relationship, too. But tonight, he was the one who was patrolling with her, while Spike had been left behind. And as far as Spike was concerned, Buffy had been much too eager to join the military couple in their hunt. Much too quick on leaving him home too.

It was a quiet, cracking noise that pulled him out of his thoughts. Puzzled, he looked at the hole that led to the lower level. Could someone have invaded his crypt? They would certainly be sorry if they had.

Using his lighter to light one of the torches, he lost no time climbing down the ladder, already preparing a selection of chosen insults while forgetting that he was in no shape to fight if there was indeed a demon in his former bedroom.

What he found, rather than a demon, stunned him so much that he stared in shock for long seconds at the room full of eggs. Only when he heard the same cracking noise that had alerted him in the first place did he react, having just realized that some of the eggs were rocking slightly, obviously ready to let out whatever little monster they held.

He started moving before he even knew it. Buffy had wanted to keep him home, but there he was, doing her and Riley’s job, bashing and burning the eggs with the torch before they could let free the creatures they contained. He put into the act all his irritation and frustration, barely feeling the pain when he pulled at his stitches.

Before long, he was walking amongst broken shells and what was left of the unborn demons. A couple of them had been alive when he had broken their shells, but they had caught fire easily, and died almost too fast to be satisfying. A hand pressed to his side, his breathing heavy, Spike was surveying the damage when a hated voice echoed in the crypt.

“Lost your fangs but not your demon habits, Spike? Or should we call you Doctor?”

Turning to face Riley, who had some sort of weapon pointed at him, Spike tried not to notice how close behind the wanker Buffy was.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied blankly. “What I do know is that I’ve done your job.”

“Yeah, of course,” Riley sneered, keeping his weapon straight toward Spike. “Once you knew we were looking for you, that was the safest thing to do, wasn’t it?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Buffy exclaimed, walking past him and pushing his weapon toward the ground. “These things weren’t his, and he’s not your ‘Doctor’.”

Spike’s happiness that she was defending him disappeared when she threw a questioning look toward him, as though asking him to confirm his words.

“Anyway,” she continued, facing Riley and Sam who had joined them, “he’s human, now. He wouldn’t do anything like that.”

Her words felt like a slap to the face for Spike, and he stared at the back of her head, wishing he had been able to know what was going on in her mind.

Was she implying that, if he had been a vampire, he might have been stupid enough to pull off a plan like that? Was she saying that no human would have? He almost wished, at that moment, that he had really done it, that the eggs had in fact been his and that he had been destroying evidence. He wished he had done it, just to surprise her and prove her wrong, show her that even humans could do stupid things and that having a heartbeat wasn’t a cure to being evil or cooking up more than shaky plans.

*****

_Yeah, I can’t say I enjoyed hearing her point out how being human changed everything about me. A bit more than a year earlier, she had been trying to pound it into Finn’s head that it didn’t matter to her that I was a vamp and that I could fight on the same side as they did even without a soul. To hear her express the opposite was confusing, to say the least. Had she meant her words then, or did she mean them now? If she was honest now, it meant that our relationship, Slayer to vampire, had been based on a lie. But what did it mean, if she was lying now? Why would she denigrate a vampire that didn’t even exist anymore? Despite my efforts, I couldn’t understand, so I had to believe that she meant her words and that being human made me better._

_Saying that it hurt like hell would be an understatement._

_That wasn’t the end of it, though. On top of all that, Finn, of all people, managed to make me feel even less adequate than I already did. How did he do that? By giving me back a few words I had said to him before he had left. Words that hurt more than that piece of plastic he had once shoved into my heart._

_“You know, Spike,” the bastard said before he left, low enough that Buffy wouldn’t hear from where she was saying goodbye to his wife, “I think you were right. She does need a monster in her man. Pity for you, hey?”_

_If perfect Mrs. Finn hadn’t come up to us right then, I might have shoved my fist into the wanker’s smiling face. I honestly regret not having done it. Can I just say how much it rankled that in just a few hours the bloody idiot managed to see how rocky things were between Buffy and me? And yeah, the fact that he had broadcasted loud and clear how wonderful his marriage was didn’t help a thing._

_So where did all that leave me? Between a rock and a hard place, I’d say._

_I’ll admit I had thought about getting myself turned again before that night. Heck, it was my little secret fantasy. Don’t tell me you thought I wouldn’t consider it. As miserable as I was most of the time, it felt like the perfect escape._

_I might even have done it already by then if I had known a vamp I could trust. Getting my fangs back, that would have given me that bit of monster that Buffy seemed to miss if I was to believe my own observations and Finn’s exultant jab._

_But then, how did that help if, ultimately, Buffy wanted a human, as her comment that night had led me to realize?_

_Rock and hard place, I tell you.  
_


	17. Best Man

Out of the many questions without satisfying answer in Spike’s existence, why he was helping Xander into his cummerbund was only the latest to date. And one, as he struggled to close the torture instrument in question, that he really wished he had an answer to.

“Shouldn’t your best man be doing this?” he grumbled under his breath, wishing with all his being that he had had his vampire strength at that instant.

“Well, yeah, but she…”

With an exclamation of triumph, Spike finally managed to fasten the cummerbund, and judging by the way Xander gasped, he probably managed to cut his air supply as well.

“Hmm, Spike?” Xander said, sounding somewhat uncomfortable, and Spike promised himself that if the git said the cummerbund was too tight, he was going to make him eat the damn thing. “Was that a non-subtle way to ask why I didn’t ask you to be my best man?”

Blinking once, Spike stared at Xander, unable to understand where the question had come from. Apparently, Xander took the staring as a positive answer to his question, and he added, speaking increasingly faster so that he was a little out of breath by the time he finished: “I asked Wills because she’s been my best friend forever, and I really couldn’t imagine anyone else… I mean, I kinda like you, you’ve been cool for a while in the Xander book of ex-demons, but we’re not best buds or anything, at least I think you’re not, but then you haven’t got that many friends so I guess maybe you’d ask me if you were in my place, and I’d totally accept if you wanted me to be your best man, even I didn’t ask you to be mine. You’re not mad, are you?”

Again, Spike blinked, not entirely sure he had understood everything Xander had just said. Shaking his head, he picked up a bowtie from a nearby chair and threw it at Xander. He had struggled enough with his own, he refused to even try tying Xander’s.

“Tell me something, Harris,” he asked, patting his pockets for his cigarettes and grimacing when he remembered the lodge was supposed to be non-smoking. “Would you have considered asking me if I’d still had my fangs?”

Judging by how Xander’s eyes opened as wide as they would go while he remained frozen in the middle of tying his bowtie, he had never even thought of it. Spike snickered.

“If you wouldn’t have considered it then but had asked me now, I would have been mad. But as things are…” He shrugged and smiled faintly. “I think I’ll survive.”

“That’s… good,” Xander said, although he sounded doubtful. “You were pretty gloomy at the rehearsal dinner so I thought…”

“Harris, your father puked on my shoes,” Spike interrupted him abruptly. “That’s where the gloomy came from. That, and Buffy preventing me from hitting him.”

Xander snorted. “That’s good. Not the puking, the no-hitting part. The wedding pictures will be weird enough without adding bruises and…” As his voice trailed off, he looked at Spike accusingly. “Hey! You’re supposed to be keeping my father away from the bar! What are you doing here chatting with me?”

A half-dozen retorts came to Spike’s mind, each more flippant than the last, but Spike managed to keep them to himself and make a grimace that could have passed for a smile. His polite restraint would be the happy couple’s wedding gift, he decided when he left the room and headed off to find Xander’s father.

By the time he had found the man, predictably at the bar, he was as gloomy as he had been the previous night – and this time, his shoes were still intact.

Several of the things Xander had said had appeared innocuous on the moment, but now that he was thinking about them… ex-demon, no friend outside of Buffy’s circle, the expectant tone of Xander’s voice when he had mentioned Spike’s possible need for a best man…

“Scotch. No ice.”

The words passed his lips before he even noticed them, and he watched absently as the bartender served him. At his side, Tony Harris was observing him with a slight frown.

“You’re not one of ours, are you?” he asked pointedly. “Not with this hair color. Although you look remarkably normal to be a member of the freak show.”

Regaining his urge from the previous night to rough up the man a little, Spike downed his glass in one long swallow.

“No, not one of yours,” he muttered. “Not now, not ever.”

The man next to him snorted and made some kind of disparaging comment, but Spike wasn’t listening. It had just dawned on him just how much, despite being human, he was still thinking like a vamp. When they had celebrated his engagement to Anya months earlier, Xander had hinted at Spike proposing to Buffy; tonight, he had referred to the same thing again. But at no time, during all these months, had Spike ever thought for a second about proposing to Buffy. It wasn’t simply that their relationship was in too much of turmoil for that; he simply couldn’t imagine himself marrying anyone, not any more than he had when he had been a vampire.

When he thought of spending his life with Buffy, he thought of her as of his Mate.

The trouble was she wasn’t his Mate. Not anymore.

*****

A flash of white blond hair had caught Buffy’s eyes just as it was passing the door, and she wove her way through the crowd toward it. Anya and Xander were both putting the last touch on their vows, the ceremony would start soon. It really wasn’t the time for Spike to go wandering off. 

She understood why he had snuck out as soon as she walked out onto the porch, and found him leaning against the wall; a cigarette between his lips. At least he had made the effort to go outside, she forced herself to acknowledge, deciding not to pester him about his smoking. Instead, she flashed him a wide smile. She had to insist before he finally agreed to rent a tux for the occasion, and she was certainly glad that she had managed to convince him.

“You look gorgeous. You should dress up more often.”

He snickered at that, and shook his head. 

“Not gonna happen. I hate it. I feel like a bloody doll dressed up for tea.”

Coming closer to him, she pointed at her own clothes. “You can talk. At least you’re not wearing a radioactive dress.”

She could practically feel his eyes as they traced her body, and a slight blush came over her face.

“’S that why you’re glowing?” he asked with a small smile.

“Probably,” she replied a bit bashfully. Compliments were good, especially since Spike didn’t give her many of those these days. His smile, though, faded quickly, and his next words were murmured, while he looked away; which did nothing but confuse Buffy.

“Yeah, haven’t given you many reasons to glow since I was brought back, have I?”

Staring at him, she tried to understand what he could be talking about and failed miserably. Before she could ask, he continued, a little louder now, and his eyes were back on her.

“I try, though. I swear I do. It’s just not working.”

Shaking her head, she frowned at him in a lack of understanding. “Spike? What are you talking about?”

“You and me. The Slayer and William the bloody shop clerk.”

He wasn’t making much sense at all, but something else was. She had finally noticed the other scent that was clinging to him. Smoking wasn’t the only bad habit in which he seemed to have been indulging.

“Are you drunk?” she asked coldly, and his answer was defiant.

“What if I am?”

“Gosh, Spike,” she sighed. “You were supposed to prevent Mr. Harris from raiding the bar, not help him!”

“Not supposed to have a heartbeat, either” he shrugged, clearly unconcerned. “And still I do.”

It took a few seconds before she understood what he was saying, and she had no clue on how to answer. So she tried to shift the conversation; as it turned out, for the worse.

“Why don’t you ditch the cigarette and come back inside before you catch a cold or something?”

“You’re doing it again,” he complained. “Babying me. I’m older than you, you know. ‘Can take care of myself.”

“Which is certainly why you’re intoxicated before the reception has even started,” she shot back, rolling her eyes at him.

“You never cared if I got drunk when I was a vamp.”

It was getting ridiculous. It almost sounded as though Spike was trying to rile her up. And if that was the case, she wasn’t going to indulge him. “Haven’t we had this talk before?” she asked coolly. “You’re not really that drunk, are you?”

There was a flash of something that looked like disappointment in his eyes before he looked away and flicked his cigarette stub into the rain. “Pro’bly not,” he admitted. “Will have to try harder for that too.”

“Why?” she sighed, crossing her arms and rubbing her hands over her forearms. She was feeling cold, and it had nothing to do with the cool weather.

“You ask too many questions, luv,” he murmured.

“And you don’t answer them.” She couldn’t keep the hint of blame out of her voice, but it didn’t seem to faze Spike, and he replied very calmly.

“Because I’m pretty sure you don’t really want an answer.”

“Why don’t you let me decide for myself?” she snapped.

“Like you let me decide for myself whether to patrol with you or not?”

And they were back to that, once more. She had thought that being hurt during her birthday party would show Spike how fragile humans could be, but he had not taken the hint, while all she could remember was his blood staining her hands after she had tried to compress the wound. She could almost see it even now, and had to stifle the urge to rub her hands against her dress to wipe them.

“Come on,” she pleaded, “not again, not today…”

“When, then?”

“Spike, please, I don’t want to talk of this now.” 

Without realizing what she was doing, she turned her back on him, and felt somewhat relieved when he didn’t insist. She felt his hand brush the nape of her neck and then slide down to her shoulder, but it stopped before touching the marks she had expected – hoped – he would touch.

“It’s not getting any better, is it?” he whispered, so low that she wasn’t sure she had understood him right. Turning back toward him, she raised a questioning eyebrow.

“You don’t have to answer that,” he said with a half grin. “Just thinking aloud. I think too much, I suppose. I’ll try to do better.”

And with those cryptic words, he walked away and back inside the lodge, leaving the door half open behind him. Buffy contemplated it, not hearing the voices or music that drifted from inside, hearing instead his words again, and trying to make some sense out of them. She still hadn’t managed to do so when the door opened fully again, and Xander walked out, coming face to face with her.

“Here comes the groom,” she said, more cheerfully than she felt, then realized how distressed Xander looked. “Xander? What’s wrong? Where are you going?”

“Out. Away. I can’t… Let me pass, Buffy.”

He said the last words as he tried to walk past her, but she caught his arm and prevented him from leaving.

“Away?” she repeated, shocked. “Away where? The ceremony is about to start, you can’t…”

“You’re right, I can’t,” he cut in, his distress only increasing. “I can’t get through with this marriage. It’s doomed to fail, can’t you see?”

Taken for witness, Buffy could only shake her head. “Fail? Why would it fail? Have you argued with Anya? Is anything…”

“Argued?” Xander had never sounded so bitter. “No, not yet. But it’ll come. I’ve seen it all. Everything that will happen; all the hate and anger and… I can’t go through that, Buffy. I can’t make her go through that. I love her too much for that.”

He wasn’t making much sense, but Buffy was rather sure that if she let go of his arm, Xander would simply leave; so she held on and tried to reason with him. She had seen too many relationships fail. She needed to see this one succeed. She needed it, if she was to believe there was hope for Spike and her.

“Go through what?” she said, trying to calm Xander with a soothing voice. “Fights? Everybody argues. It’s OK. All you’ve got to do is stick around long enough to make up.”

He clearly wasn’t listening, or at least not believing what she was saying. Looking off into the distance, he tried to pull his arm out of her grip.

“Buffy, let me go, it’s not…”

“No!” The force of her refusal surprised even her, and Xander stopped fighting. “I am not letting you go anywhere until you listen to me! You’ve got to hang in there, even if it’s tough, even when you’re hurt, even when you hurt the one you love. Because it wouldn’t hurt as much if you didn’t love her, don’t you see? Whatever it is, you two can get through it. If you just talk, you can. But you’ve got to stay together for that.”

As she talked, Buffy could see how she wasn’t just talking about him and Anya. These were words she wished she could have given Spike to push him to talk to her; to work with her at repairing what was wrong in their relationship. But saying these words would have meant admitting first just how much repairs were needed, and she couldn’t do that. Helping Xander, though, that was feasible.

“But what if talking is not enough?” he asked, faltering just enough that she knew she must have reached him. “I’ve seen it, Buffy, he showed me. If we stay together, it’s a lifetime of pain for the two of us.”

She wasn’t sure who ‘he’ was, or what Xander thought he had seen exactly, but she knew, as much as she had ever known anything in her life, that she couldn’t let Xander walk away.

“And if you don’t even try,” she answered his doubts, more quietly now, “it’s a lifetime of regret. Because you _will_ regret it. I know you, Alexander Harris. You’re not the type of person who leaves a woman at the altar. You’re the type of person who comes through, whatever the odds. The type of person who will risk his life for what he believes in. And you had to believe in your relationship with Anya if you asked her to marry you. You had to believe something good could come out of it.”

There was just a hint of question in her voice on the last words, and after a few seconds, Xander nodded.

“I did,” he replied in a murmur. “I do.”

Smiling gently, she slid her hand down his arm and to his own, clasping it lightly.

“Then I suggest you get back in there before Anya gets back into the vengeance business.”

He offered a lopsided smile at her joke, and pulled her into a brief hug.

“Thank you,” he said as he let her go.

“You’re welcome. But before you go and get married, explain to me something… Who showed you the supposed disaster?”

Finding the old man Xander described as an older version of himself didn’t take long; unmasking the demon, even less time. And as she watched Xander pronounce his vows, clearly still shaken but taking a chance nonetheless, Buffy was brought to tears and she promised herself she wouldn’t give up either – nor would she let Spike give up on them.

*****

_So it’s thanks to her that Harris and Anya got married? She never said anything. I didn’t even know how close things had been to collapsing. Of course, seeing how I was well on my way to being drunk before they pronounced their vows…And let me tell you that she made sure I knew she wasn’t happy. All evening long, I got nasty glares and disappointed looks. Definitely no understanding where I was concerned._

_She saved their marriage before it even started. Guess you learn something new every day. Great. Just… bloody great._

_You know what? I don’t get it._

_There I was, miserable as hell, unable to find my footing after months at playing the human game, struggling to even know what my place was in her life, and she couldn’t see any of it. Couldn’t admit either that our little couple was far from doing so well, or that it wouldn’t have taken that much for us to fall apart as thoroughly as Xander and Anya almost did that day._

_But she saw what was up with them, she found the words her friend needed to hear, and she gave them to him. She saved their relationship, brave little Slayer that she is._

_Why couldn’t she have done the same with us?_

_Me? Bitter? What could have given you that impression?  
_


	18. Vampire Again

A night stroll with her boyfriend would have been nice, Buffy thought ruefully as she checked the next rental address on her list. The air was a bit cool but not too much so, the almost full moon was high and bright in the sky, it was a perfect night for romantic outings. One problem was she had work to do, nerds to find. And the other problem...

“This house, then?”

Those were the first words Spike had uttered since they had argued, almost half an hour earlier, about whether he ought to tag along on her hunt or not. She had finally caved in when it became clear that Spike wouldn’t, consoling herself with the fact that, at least, they were looking for three humans and not three demons.

“Yeah, this one. Let’s have a look. And if you see anything, call me, OK? They’re pathetic, but we know they’ve killed before and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Just as she was finishing, a growl behind them caught their attention, and Spike chuckled dryly. 

“Jinx me, why don’t you, luv?”

Without warning, he rushed to the demon, ignoring Buffy’s shout for him to leave it to her.

“Spike!” she yelled, frightened, when the ugly, waxy thing threw him to the ground with one blow. Incensed, she jumped in to stop the next one. “I am so going to kick your ass!”

She wasn’t sure whether she was talking to Spike or the demon, but the result was the same. The adrenaline was pumping fast in her system at having seen Spike manhandled – though not hurt, apparently, since he was standing up and stupidly trying to help again. God, but she hated that he took such risks.

“Be careful Slayer!” Spike called out as the demon took a hit at her. “It got its spear out!”

She wanted to ask what he was talking about, but Spike had deflected the demon’s attention from her by hitting it with a trashcan, and as it turned she could see it; a long, pointy skewer coming out from the back of his hand.

A long pointy skewer that found its way in Spike’s arm. She screamed at the same time he did.

*****

One second, Spike was howling in pain at being skewered by the demon; the next, he was howling in pleasure as he reached his climax, thrusting one last time into the pliant body beneath him. 

Mind blank, he collapsed onto his partner and strong arms clung to him, holding him where he was, close to soft flesh and comfortable curves. Cool lips trailed over his neck, and the sensation felt at the same time intensely familiar and utterly wrong. It took him long seconds to gather his wits, and when he did he scrambled away in alarm, eyes wide as he took in the scene. The rumpled bed he was now kneeling on was spotted with blood, as was he. On the floor, close enough that he could have reached out and touched her, a woman lay, her throat torn open and bloody. Another body, that one male, was just a little further along, face down, unmoving. And in the bed… looking at him through barely-open eyelashes, Drusilla was grinning at him, her delicate hands playing over her own naked body.

“Welcome back, my Spike,” she purred.

“Come back, Spike. Come on, you’re scaring me now.”

Blinking furiously, Spike brought a hand to his head, and gritted his teeth as pain exploded in his arm. He was back in Sunnydale, in the street he had been fighting on. Back to Buffy.

“What… what happened?” he asked, confused, part of him expecting to find Drusilla lurking about.

“You tell me.” Buffy’s hand on his uninjured arm was a little too tight, and she looked up at him worriedly. “That thing poked you and you zoned out. Stopped moving, stopped talking, just… an empty Spike.”

As unable to hold her gaze as he was to tell her he had daydreamed himself in Drusilla’s arms, he looked down at his arm. The duster’s sleeve had been pierced as easily as though it had been rice paper, and it was stained with blood and a whitish substance. 

“I need to clean that,” he said blankly, his memory flashing back to the blood and sex scene he had just left. He felt unclean, could almost have sworn he could still smell the blood that had covered his body, but at the same time a flash of lust ran through his veins. Shaking his head, he tried to dismiss the contradictory messages his brain was sending him. Buffy was still observing him, her brow knitted up in concern, and he gave her a weak smile. 

“I’m OK,” he lied. “If you could just try not to jinx me, next time we go out together, it’d be great.”

He could see her fight the smile that was rising to her lips, but she couldn’t completely stave it off. 

“Let’s get you home,” she murmured, and they made their way back to Revello Drive, Spike trying very hard not to think about his blackout. And trying very hard not to wonder, for the first time in more than a year, where Drusilla was.

*****

The Magic Box had been extremely quiet all morning, which was a good thing since Spike was working there alone. He hadn’t been feeling so well since the previous night, and had experienced half a dozen flashes that brought him to a different world – a world in which he was still with Drusilla.

The latest vision had come an hour or so earlier, as he had been showing scented candles to a customer. One second, the woman had been flirtingly asking him which scent was best for a romantic mood; the next, she had been staring at him with wide eyes and pleading for her life. A blink had erased all of it, and he had returned to the shop and to a customer rather annoyed that he was ignoring her.

The doorbell suddenly rang, startling Spike from murky thoughts and unanswerable questions. Willow didn’t seem to notice his half-jump, and she came to the table where he was sitting with a bright smile, Tara in tow. It wasn’t the first time the two had showed up at the store together, but Spike was suddenly very glad for Tara’s presence. He was still more than reluctant to ask Willow’s help, but he trusted Tara.

“Hey Spike,” Willow said cheerfully as she sat across from him. “Anya and Xander say hi!”

He blinked at her, unsure what she meant. “They’re back already? I thought the honeymoon was until next weekend.”

“Oh, it is. They just sent an email. And Anya asked me to drop by and make sure everything was alright without looking like I was spying on you or anything.”

Spike let out a weak laugh at that. “Everything’s just peachy. And you can tell her your amazing non-spying skills kept you out of my notice.”

“Are you sure you’re OK?” Tara asked, her brow furrowed. “You look…” She blushed a little when both Spike and Willow looked at her quizzically. “Not OK,” she finished quietly.

Looking down at the book in front of him on the table, Spike made a decision and pushed it toward her. He didn’t mind so much the flashes, or visions or whatever they were; but the fact that he didn’t mind them was bothering him a bit. 

Tara and Willow both read the page on which Spike had opened the book, and they looked up together, alarmed.

“Is… is that the demon that hurt you last night?” Tara asked.

Spike nodded, but before he could say a word, the world shifted around him again, and Drusilla was suddenly in front of him.

“Are you back again?” she asked, sounding just a little worried.

Looking around, he couldn’t recognize where he was, but the boarded up windows, the mixed scents of Dru and him and sex and blood all around him, all of it screamed ‘lair’ to him.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he mumbled shaking his head. “This is just a dream.”

“Not a dream, my Spike,” she purred, throwing her arms around his neck and drawing his head to rest on her shoulder. “The dream was when the demon ate your mind. But you’re all better, now.”

“Better?” he murmured, not entirely sure she wasn’t right, and unconsciously closed his arms around her.

*****

Coming home in the early evening after a long shift at the Double Meat Palace, Buffy was more than surprised to find Spike, Dawn, Tara and Willow in the living room, each one looking gloomier than the next. Dawn was curled up against Spike, her head against his shoulder, clinging to his arm as though he had been about to vanish; something bad had to have happened. Her heart seemed to want to jump out of her chest suddenly.

“What’s going on?” she asked, not addressing anyone in particular but her eyes fixed on Spike. His skin looked clammy, and he was staring off into nothing, just like he had been the previous night, after the demon had hurt him. He seemed to awaken at the sound of her voice, and turned bleary eyes at her.

“Spike is sick,” Willow said quietly. 

“Sick?” Dropping her jacket by the entrance, she hurried to his side. A hand to his forehead found him burning. “You should be in bed. Did you see a doctor?”

“No doctor’s gonna help me,” he said with a lopsided smile.

“It’s the demon from last night,” Tara chimed in.

“The good news is, we think we know how to fix him,” Willow added on Buffy’s frown. “But you’ve got to find the demon that infected him. The antidote is in the same spear that injects the poison.”

“I’ll get it,” Buffy said, clenching and unclenching her fist, then took another look at Spike. “As soon as Spike is in bed.”

Dawn offered her help, but Buffy gently declined, just as she shushed Spike when he protested he could get there by himself. One arm wrapped around him, she led him up the stairs and to their room.

“Does it hurt?” she asked as she helped him lie on top of the bed.

“No, it’s not…” he shook his head slightly. “It’s not that bad, really. I have… visions. Except, they’re not visions. They feel as real as this.”

He took her hand and squeezed it. Smiling faintly, she squeezed back.

“So what do you see?”

He closed his eyes, and she could tell that he didn’t really want to answer. But he eventually did.

“It’s just… I’m a vamp, there.”

Something twisted in Buffy, and she was glad that he wasn’t looking at her at that instant.

“And I don’t feel so bloody useless.”

The words were no louder than a murmur, but Buffy heard them as clearly as though Spike had shouted them. She wanted to reply to him that he was anything but useless, but his grip on her hand had slackened; he had drifted off again. 

“I’ll find that demon,” she promised quietly, running a hand over his forehead. “And I’ll be back before you know it.”

She started turning away, but three words stopped her.

“Be careful, Dru.”

She looked back at Spike, but there was no sign he was conscious of her presence. He hadn’t been talking to her. He had been talking to someone in his vision.

Drusilla was in his vision.

 _It’s not that bad, really.  
_  
His words echoed in her mind, numbing her. He was dreaming himself as a vampire with Drusilla. And he didn’t mind so much. Didn’t mind at all, she would have bet. 

Grinding her teeth, she stormed out of the room. She would find that demon, and Spike would soon be well. He would be well, and with her. She wasn’t ready to lose any more of him than she already had.

*****

Back to the world he knew wasn’t really his, Spike couldn’t manage to feel bad that he was there. Things seemed simpler, here. As simple as they had been before the soul. He used to kill to feed. He fucked. Sometimes he did both at once. There were no worries about money, or a kid sister, or demons to slay, or a girlfriend who treated him as though he were spun glass. He missed Buffy, when he was here, but the simplicity of everything else was a haven.

The familiarity of it was extraordinary, as though he had never ceased to do any of it. And somehow, there was no more remorse about his kills than there had been, back then. He knew these people weren’t real; reality was a heartbeat, sunlight, a job at the Magic Box, and Buffy. So he could feed without a care in the world; and damn, but it felt good.

The guilt however had slowly asserted itself more clearly every time he had entered a vision to find Drusilla in his bed. Buffy wasn’t anywhere around, but Dru was a constant. From what he had gathered, she had been taking care of him for years, making sure he fed even though he was unable to hunt by himself. He was grateful for that, but at the same time, something was missing; he didn’t love her as much as he once had, and he had the feeling he was taking advantage of her, somehow. Even now, she had come back to their lair with a sweet little morsel for him. A morsel that was fighting her off now that the thrall was dissipating.

“Be careful, Dru,” he advised as the human struggled in her arms. “This one looks like she has delusions of freedom.”

“Catch her, then,” Drusilla laughed, and pushed the girl toward him. He caught her easily and bent down to her neck, but something stopped him. His visions had thrust him in the middle of kills before, or immediately after, but it was the first time he would take a life, however illusory it may be, of his own accord. If he did, he wasn’t sure the guilt would remain out of the whole experience. And he wanted to be guilt-free when he found Buffy.

Each time he had drifted to the vision-world, it had been for a little longer, and now he couldn’t help but wonder… would he remain trapped here, if he wasn’t given an antidote? He vaguely remembered Buffy saying she would find the demon and bring back the antidote, but would it be so bad if she didn’t, or if she returned too late? He could remain in this world, find her again, court her until she returned his love, like the first time around, and then…

“You wouldn’t leave me, my William, would you?”

Blinking, Spike returned his attention to Drusilla. She had taken the girl back from him, and broken her neck, if he was to judge by the way the dead human lay on the floor. Drusilla looked hurt.

“The pixies are saying you want to leave me again,” she said with an absolute calm. “But you can’t. I’ve taken care of you for so long and now you’re back to me.”

“Dru, it’s not… I just have to go to the Hellmouth.”

“Why? Daddy's Slayer is already dead. Don’t you remember? You said she was the sweetest of all. Don't you want to find another one instead?”

*****

_To hear how I had killed the Slayer in Sunnydale and been hurt by Angel from a blow to the head before Dru had staked him in self-defense left me numb. I can’t think of another word for it. I had thought this was the perfect escape, the perfect way to have both Buffy and my fangs, but suddenly the deal wasn’t so perfect anymore._

_I said goodbye to Drusilla, fixing her image in my mind one last time, and then I… left. Or came back, depending on how you look at it. I’m not sure how it worked, not sure how I knew what to do, but I focused on the real world, and then, I was there. I left my vampire self and Dru behind, and came back to a world that wasn’t as colorful, as bright, as clear, but in which Buffy was still alive. A world in which I hadn’t killed her._

_I was in bed when I awoke from the dream that wasn’t really one, and Buffy was there, sitting on a chair by the bed. She had fallen asleep with her head pillowed on the arm she had thrown over me. She woke up when I brushed a strand of hair off her face, and there was so much unguarded worry when she first looked at me… If I had needed a confirmation that she still loved me, that single look would have been enough._

_“Spike?” she murmured, and I could tell by the barely there hope in her voice that she wasn’t so sure I would answer._

_“Yeah, I’m in there, luv.”_

_Her arm tightened a bit over me, as though she was afraid I’d disappear if she let go._

_“You’ve got to try and stay focused,” she said quickly. “Willow and Tara are working on a cure, they said it wouldn’t take long now, but you’ve got to stay with us. With me. You’ve got to…Please.”_

_She was all but begging by the time she finished, and I hated that she was. It showed she really wanted me around, I guess, but it just felt wrong. My Slayer didn’t beg – not unless we were fucking and… you get the picture. She shouldn’t have had to beg for anything else. And certainly not for me to stay with her._

_“Not going anywhere,” I told her. “Not anymore.”_

_I could tell that she both wanted to believe me and was afraid to, and I didn’t have to wait long for her fears to surface._

_“You were with Drusilla, weren’t you?” she asked, failing to sound as though it didn’t really matter._

_I didn’t ask her how she knew, and simply nodded. I could read the next question in her eyes, in the tilt of her head, in the way her mouth barely opened before closing again without a word._

_“You weren’t there.”_

_She closed her eyes briefly, and I added: “You weren’t there, so I couldn’t stay.”_

_I barely had time to see her eyes fill up with tears before she climbed on the bed and clung to me as tightly as she had for weeks after I had been brought back. We stayed like that until Willow and Tara came up with a mug filled with the foul-tasting concoction that anchored me back to this reality._

_I’ve often wondered what happened to the other-me, if he really exists as more than just a figment of my imagination. Is there truly another world in which an altered Spike, more primitive demon and less thinking creature than I ever was, kills the prey Drusilla brings to him? It seems really extraordinary that someone as different could exist and still be me; but at the same time I can see how it could have happened. If I hadn’t been souled, hadn’t made human friends, hadn’t fallen in love with the Slayer, hadn’t been chipped, hadn’t died and been brought back, what would I have been like? A regular vamp, I guess. Like I was before I came to Sunnydale._

_And when it came to that, the choice was easier that I would have imagined. I missed what I had been before, yeah, no doubt there. But I’d rather have been human with Buffy in my life than a vamp without her.  
_


	19. Confessions

It had been a few days since Spike had been poisoned by that demon with the unpronounceable name, and according to Willow and Tara, he should have been completely cured by their potion. And in truth, since the incident he had seemed more… cheerful, if that was a word that could be applied to Spike. But Dawn was convinced that something was still wrong with him; he sometimes seemed to be trying too hard to look happy.

Also, he had been staring off at nothing a lot, lately, and she couldn’t remember the last time she had seen him smile. Not one of those fake, ‘I’m fine, why are you asking?’ smiles he gave everyone and especially Buffy, but a real, ‘I’m happy and I show it’ smile. Which had to mean he wasn’t happy. And to Dawn, that simple deduction was terrifying.

A little more than six years earlier, she had been too young to understand what had been going on between her parents beyond the fact that, for months before she, Buffy and their mom had moved to Sunnydale, something had been wrong between her mom and dad. Now, when she looked at Spike and Buffy, she saw the very same signs. They barely ever talked, and when they did, it often ended with an argument. They never held hands anymore, or cuddled to watch TV. They didn’t smile at each other, or kiss hello or goodbye. And they both claimed, when asked the question directly, that everything was perfectly fine.

Dawn might not understand what was going on exactly, but she knew two things – if it kept on like this, Buffy and Spike would end up hating each other, and she had to do something to prevent that.

That was why she had accompanied Spike to the Magic Box that morning. School was off for the day, and she had convinced him that she could help clean up the store so Anya would have no dust bunnies to complain about when she returned from her honeymoon. Her plan had been to make him talk about what was going on; after all, it was a bit thanks to her that he hadn’t left for England, so maybe she could help fix things between him and Buffy. But he had refused to talk to her however much she had insisted, and she might even have upset him, if the dark look he had given her on her last attempt was any indication.

Disappointed, she took advantage of Buffy dropping by after her morning classes and suggested a sisters outing. Buffy seemed oddly surprised by the suggestion, but pleased nonetheless and before long they left together, leaving an indifferent Spike behind.

They hadn’t reached the end of the street when Dawn started attacking.

“Would you tell me if Spike and you were going to break up? Or would you let me find out for myself?”

Maybe the attack had been a little too abrupt; Buffy stopped instantly, and she seemed extremely pale as she looked at Dawn.

“Did Spike… did he say something?” she asked, almost pleading. “You’ve got to tell me, Dawn. If he said…”

Realizing she had alarmed her sister far beyond what she had meant, Dawn took her hand and squeezed it. “No, no, he didn’t say anything,” she assured Buffy, who immediately appeared relieved. “It’s just…”

“It’s just what?” Buffy asked when she hesitated. Without needing to talk, they started walking again, and after a few steps Dawn had chosen her words more carefully.

“I thought things would get better when he said he wouldn’t go to England. But… it’s not getting better, is it?”

A sigh from Buffy answered Dawn’s question. “You know, you can tell me,” she added quietly. “I’m not a child, I can understand. I can help, maybe.”

“I wish you could,” Buffy replied, wrapping an arm around Dawn’s shoulders for a quick hug. “But it’s not that simple.”

“I guess I can understand it’s difficult for Spike to adjust,” she insisted when it became clear that Buffy wouldn’t say anything more. “But you…”

She wasn’t quite sure how to finish her sentence without hurting Buffy; she didn’t need to however, as Buffy took over.

“But I shouldn’t find it as difficult, is that it? I’ve got Spike back, so everything should be right in the world.”

There was an incredible sadness in her words that scared Dawn a little, and she turned questioning eyes to Buffy. “So, why _isn’t_ everything right in the world?”

Buffy kept walking, eyes staring at the pavement in front of her, but Dawn would have bet she wasn’t seeing a thing. Finally, she started talking again, very softly, with the tone of voice used for confidences and secrets.

“Last year, just before he… died, Spike and I became mates. It’s a vampire thing. It’s like… a bond, really. A link between us. It was a little like having a bit of him inside my heart. And that bond… that mating, it disappeared when he died. It left a void in the middle of my chest that hurts more than anything I had ever imagined.”

She stopped there, but Dawn could finish the tale for herself. “And it still hurts even though he’s back?” 

Buffy nodded. “There’s nothing to do about it. I’ll just have to learn to live with it. Just like Spike has to relearn to be human.”

Struck by her sister’s words and unsure what to say, Dawn remained silent. She could understand a little better now why Buffy had been so hurt during that awful summer; why, also, she was so incredibly scared to let Spike patrol with her. If she still felt like she had lost part of him, it had to be unbearable to fear to lose him completely again.

Dawn could have sworn, when Buffy took a deep breath, that she was trying to push back tears. She wished she could have found something to say to make her feel better, but she didn’t have time for it.

“All right,” Buffy said with a brightness that sounded more than a little forced. “Enough with my heart problems. How about you tell me what’s going on in your life for a change?”

*****

The bell over the door rang cheerfully, and Spike threw it a nasty glare. He had come to hate the joyous sound of that bell. Not only that, but helping women who batted their eyelashes at him to find the perfect candle had long since lost its appeal. He could already predict what the woman walking toward the counter with a slight smile would end up buying on his recommendation. He’d never have thought he would come to that point, but he couldn’t wait for Anya to come back.

“Hello there!” the woman said with a bright smile, already flirting as she patted her curly hair. “How are you?”

Barely repressing the urge to scowl at her, Spike plastered a fake grin on his face. “Fine, Ma’am. What can I help you find today?”

Her smile wavered a little and she looked a little put off as she observed him. “I’m not here to buy anything, I came to see you. I was in the wedding party, remember?”

In all honesty, Spike did not; he remembered very little of the event, in fact, courtesy of his overindulgence in all things alcoholic. But when the woman – the demon – flashed her true face at him, another memory resurfaced, tinted with the pain of a sword slashing through his side. “You!” he exclaimed, pointing a finger at her. “You’re the one who trapped us in the house!”

“Well, technically Dawn did,” she corrected him a little testily, before sweetening again. “And how is she doing? Better, I hope? She’s such a precious child.”

Spike didn’t answer as he gaped at her. As long as he had thought her a customer, he hadn’t paid much attention to her. But now that he was really looking at her, the resemblance was just extraordinary, and a name passed his lips before he could stop it. It was ridiculous, of course. It had been two centuries, and this woman couldn’t be…

“Cecily?”

An incredibly pleased smile curled her lips. “I go by Halfrek, now, actually. I was wondering if I was imagining things or if it was really you, William.”

“Spike,” he replied automatically. “I changed my name too.”

“Changed your hair, also,” she mused. “I like it. Anything else different? Anything that would explain why you’re still alive more than a hundred years after I last saw you?”

He snorted at that, and knelt behind the counter. Giles had left a bottle here when he had left, and while Spike had known it was there, he had never felt the need to touch it until now.

“Scotch?” he offered, pulling out two glasses, and Cecily – Halfrek – declined with a shake of her head. Shrugging, Spike filled a tumbler almost to the brim.

“I was a vamp for the past hundred and twenty years,” he explained after taking a sip of courage. “Died last year. Was brought back as a human. Lucky me.” He drowned the bitterness of his voice by emptying the glass in one long gulp under Halfrek’s curious gaze. “What about you? Since when have you been a demon?”

“Three hundred years,” she said, suddenly absorbed in the contemplation of her nails. “Give or take a few decades.”

“So… you were a demon when you were such a bitch to William, then. Interesting.”

She looked up sharply at that, obviously insulted, but Spike placated her with a slight smile. “’Guess I should thank you for that. I walked out of that party and straight into the arms of my sire. Best thing that could have happened to me.”

“Was it, now?” she asked, mollified, and Spike nodded as he walked around the counter, taking the bottle and his glass to the research table. Turning to the shelves next to it, he pulled out a well-worn volume and easily found the page he wanted. 

“William the Bloody,” he read aloud, drawing a curious Halfrek closer. “Rings a bell? They don’t have all the facts right, but they got the gist of it.”

She took the book from him and perched herself on the edge of the table, legs crossed to support the book on her knee. Spike observed her as he poured himself another drink. She hadn’t changed a bit. Neither had he, he supposed. But to see in front of him the woman for whom William had had such strong and misplaced feelings, the woman who had caused him to go out and meet his death – his salvation, to see her here and now was putting him in a peculiar nostalgic mood.

“You killed two Slayers?” she said, clearly in awe and looking at him with a brand new appreciation in her eyes. “Who would have thought?”

He raised his glass to her at that. “And made the third one my mate,” he said with some pride, and for the first time in months saying the word didn’t hurt too much.

“You did?” Halfrek closed the book and slid off the table to sit across from him. “Now that’s a tale I wouldn’t mind hearing.”

Spike shrugged. It wasn’t as though he had anything better to do, really. And reminiscing on good old times was better than moaning about what he had become.

“It started when the witch tried to curse Angelus with a bloody soul, and hit me instead.”

*****

The afternoon had been lovely, and Buffy was glad she had taken some time to simply walk around with Dawn and do some much-needed sisterly bonding. She had managed to keep Spike out of her mind after that initial talk, and Dawn had apparently understood and not mentioned him again, for which Buffy was grateful. Talking with someone who wasn’t him about the bond that had linked Spike and her had felt soothing, for some reason, and maybe now she would be able to broach the subject with him. If not now, at least soon.

As she walked up to the house and laughed at something Dawn had said, Buffy’s attention was caught by an oddity in her garden. She had noticed the gnome before, and meant to talk to Dawn about it, but she had always forgotten to until now.

“What store do we have to return the creepy little guy to?” she asked, stopping Dawn with a touch to the arm and pointing to the garden gnome at the foot of the tree.

Dawn frowned and shook her head. “How would I know? You’re the one who put that ugly thing there, aren’t you?”

“Nope, not me. I thought you had.”

“Maybe Tara?” Dawn suggested, clearly unconvinced.

“Doesn’t sound like her.” Approaching the tree, Buffy picked the gnome up. “And that’s definitely not something Spike would have put there.”

Turning the pottery upside down to see if it bore a store mark, Buffy was surprised to glimpse wires inside it. Perplexed, she dropped the gnome and it shattered at her feet.

“I know it was ugly,” Dawn said from behind her, sounding amused, “but did you need to break it to…”

Her voice trailed off just as Buffy turned to show her what she had picked up amidst the debris. 

“Is that a video camera?” she asked, looking at Buffy for confirmation.

“Looks like it is,” Buffy nodded. “And who do we know likes to play with high tech gadgets?”

“The nerds?” Dawn’s eyes widened in outrage. “They wouldn’t spy on us, would they?”

“Seems to me that’s exactly what they did.” Buffy’s voice was trembling with barely restrained anger. “Let’s call Willow and see if she can track them down. I am _so_ tired of these losers.”

As it turned out, they didn’t need to call Willow as she and Tara were working together on a school project in the dining room. It didn’t take her long to hook her computer to the camera circuit, and then the four of them watched in growing horror as images after images revealed places around town where they all spent time. Several classes on campus. The Double Meat Palace. The corridor that led to Willow’s dorm. The outside of the Magic Box – and the inside of the store, too. Xander’s construction site.

“Wait! Go back to that camera!”

On Buffy’s exclamation, Willow moved back to display the image inside the Magic Box again. Bending closer to the laptop’s screen, Buffy squinted at the woman seated at the research table with Spike.

“Who is that?” she muttered, more to herself than to the others, and was slightly surprised when Dawn piped in.

“She looks like that demon I made a wish to. Halfrek?”

A knot formed in Buffy’s stomach at those words. Was Spike wishing something to a vengeance demon? Why else could he be talking to her?

“Willow, is there sound on this thing?” she asked, frustrated that she could see Spike’s lips move in between the sips he was taking from a tumbler but couldn’t hear him.

“Huh, I suppose,” Willow replied hesitantly. “But shouldn’t we find where the feeds go rather than spy on Spike? I mean…”

“What if he makes a wish that messes up with our lives again?” Buffy interrupted as calmly as she could, but the thread of nervousness was obvious in her voice. “He was more or less out of it when she came to the house on my birthday, maybe he doesn’t realize what she is and… and…”

Willow shared a look with Tara, and whatever came out of the silent exchange must have convinced her because she fiddled with the computer settings until Spike’s voice rose from it, loud and clear.

“… pretend everything’s fine,” he was saying, his speech slightly slurred. “But they’re wrong, and it’s not fine. Not fine at all. Never asked to be human. Never even wanted to be one.”

“Yes, I see your point,” Halfrek nodded, reaching over to lay a hand on Spike’s arm, and Buffy started to glare at her for the gesture; but Spike’s words soon shocked her too much to even care about Halfrek anymore. Each of his words went straight to her heart, as though he had been directly talking to her.

“All this time, I thought the Slayer loved me. All of me. ‘S why she wanted to be my mate, I thought. But, know what? She didn’t love _all_ of me. The only reason she’s hurting now is ‘cause of the mating bond. If it wasn’t for that, she’d be just happy to have me breathing and weak like a good little human. See, I f’gured it out. Before, she’d make demon-me submit to her and not kill a living soul, and now she makes me stay home. Same thing for her, she wins, she’s the boss. Except, there’s a catch.”

Halfrek made a small questioning noise as Spike took a long gulp of his drink.

“’Catch is, I didn’t mind so much not killing when I was a vamp. But I hate that she tries to keep me safe. And she hates that I fight her over it. She doesn’t love me as much as she used to. She thinks I’m doing it to spite her or something. Doesn’t get that I don’t want to be weak an’ protected. I want to be me, y’ know.”

“You’d like to still a vampire,” Halfrek translated his ramblings, and Spike nodded. “Yeah. ‘F course. But I’d lose her if I was a vamp. She couldn’t pretend anymore she loved my demon, not when she didn’t give a damn it was gone. So, I can be human and miserable with her, or a vamp and miserable without her. All that because I died to save the world. ‘S not fair, I tell you.”

Buffy had heard enough. She had even heard too much. If that was truly what Spike thought of why she was trying to keep him safe, what he thought of her loving him, then she didn’t know why he was still with her. And she didn’t know how she would ever manage to prove him wrong.

“Buffy? Where… where are you going?”

It was only when Tara’s words reached her that she realized she had crossed the room.

“I… I’ve got to go patrol,” she replied automatically, and within instants she had walked out of the house, leaving behind Spike’s voice, Dawn’s slightly accusatory eyes, the hints of guilt on Willow’s face and Tara’s sad compassion. She needed to think, and she needed to be alone for that. And maybe then she could figure out how to convince Spike that she was hurting because of far more than their broken mating bond.

*****

_I doubt Ce… Halfrek would have granted me a wish. She just came because she was curious, not to help me. She had seen me, briefly, during our impromptu birthday sleepover, then again at the wedding, and apparently she had recognized me. As for me… you saw how long it took me to recognize her._

_Honestly, I’m not sure why I talked to her as I did. I’m not sure I even truly believed everything I said. Those were fears more than certitudes, fears that I had never been able to voice until then. Hell, I barely even acknowledged them to myself._

_Halfrek wasn’t a friend, merely an acquaintance that had stepped right out of my past. She had known me – known William – at the very lowest of his existence. That was exactly how I felt that day. Dawn’s prodding in the morning had added to whatever was left from my trip to the fantasyland in which I was still a vampire, and I just felt like things couldn’t get worse for me. Halfrek just was there when I needed an ear to listen to me. As Harris had reminded me before his wedding, I didn’t have friends to turn to; not real ones. I just had Buffy’s. Except for Tara, maybe, but she was so busy repairing her own love life, I didn’t want to bother her with mine. And the Bit… well, she’s Buffy’s sister. As much as I love the kid, as much as I know she loves me, I’ve always had this feeling that, if asked to choose, she’d defend Buffy. What I needed, at that moment, was someone who’d listen to me rant and complain and wallow in self-pity. A near stranger was perfect for that._

_Except that, as it turned out, I had more of an audience than just Halfrek._

_When I returned home, long past the normal time for closing, Tara and Willow were in the kitchen, sharing hot chocolate. Willow looked me straight in the eye, something she hadn’t done since the big song and dance, and apologized to me. She said she was sorry she had brought me back human without stopping for a second to think about what I would have wanted. The polite thing would have been to accept her apology, I suppose, but I was too shocked – and maybe too drunk – to react to her words. She seemed a bit upset by my lack of reaction, and Tara comforted her by taking her hand. Then sweet Tara told me, her voice a bit wavering, that they had found out there were cameras spying on us in several places, including the Magic Box. She advised me to wait for Buffy to come back from patrol and to talk to her about what I had told Halfrek – what they had all heard. They climbed the stairs together, although I didn’t really notice at the moment._

_She was probably right. I probably should have talked to Buffy about what I felt, a real, honest talk as we hadn’t had for months. As raw and honest as I had been when talking to Halfrek. But with my head still cloudy from a few glasses too many, Tara’s advice sounded too much like an order, and I was in too much of a rebellious mood to obey. I went and took a shower; it cleared my head a bit, but didn’t change my mind. Then I went to bed. By the time Buffy came back the next day, I had left for the store already._

_It didn’t matter. We weren’t going to live the lie for much longer.  
_


	20. Overdue

The night had been long as Buffy patrolled one graveyard after the other, yet she was still surprised when dawn started lightening the sky on the horizon. She hadn’t meant to stay out all night, only to take some time to think, but here it was morning and her thoughts were as much of a mess as they had been when she first heard Spike’s shattering words.

She still couldn’t understand why, of all people, he had confided in a vengeance demon; why he hadn’t talked to her instead. She realized they had been dancing around each other for a while, both of them hurting, both of them hurting the other, but she couldn’t understand where he had gotten the idea that she had never loved the demon in him. What had she done or said to make him believe that? And his theory that keeping him out of her fight was her way of controlling him was just ridiculous – wasn’t it?

She couldn’t remember having ever demanded from Spike when he was a vampire that he stop killing. He had done that of his own accord, because he had thought, and rightly so, that she would never love him if he started killing again. It was beyond her how he had jumped from a choice made three years ago and her current attempts to keep him safe to this wild theory that she loved him less because he wouldn’t submit to her wishes.

And because she couldn’t understand his reasoning, she didn’t know how she would be able to prove him wrong. What words could she give him to prove she loved him just as much as she had before, when, if she was completely honest with herself, she wasn’t sure she did? How was she supposed to show how much she had loved the demon part of him, how much she missed it, and not just because of their mating bond, when she had been trying so hard not to refer to the demon and hurt Spike by reminding him what he had lost? It had taken her a long time, all of the previous year, to admit to herself that she craved his demon side as much as she did his more human traits; more, sometimes. Asking him to be her mate had been, in part, a way of showing to him she had no qualms about what he was. How could he have forgotten?

The easiest thing would have been to tell him that she, too, wished he had been brought back as a vampire. But would he have believed her? She had tried so hard to pretend, to convince herself and everyone else that all that mattered was his return; saying anything different would feel insincere and opportunistic, now.

Worse, though. What if Spike _did_ believe her? What if he decided to find a vampire to turn him so that she would have what she wanted? What if things turned out badly and he ended up dead, really dead instead of undead? What if he did rise as a vampire again, but came back wrong in some way? The way she understood it, when someone was turned, the demon took possession of their body; but Spike had been turned before, he had died in far from normal circumstances, and been brought back human in even more extraordinary ones. The more she thought about it, the more convinced she was that it would be a terrible idea for him to even consider the possibility – or for her to make him consider it.

Spike, as a vampire, had been special. Different from other vampires. Obsessed with Slayers. Capable of love. He had been changed by the return of his soul, and he had continued on that path by his own choice. What if she told Spike she wished he were still a vampire, and he came back evil, so that she had to stake him, or ask Willow to curse him with a soul, which he had once said was worse than being staked?

No, she couldn’t tell him that. She didn’t know what she could tell him, but she would have to find something. After what she had heard the previous night, she just had to. She couldn’t help wishing though that she hadn’t heard it, not in such a painful way. One more thing to blame on the nerd trio.

And now that she thought of them, maybe it was time to start looking for those three idiots again, starting with that house where Spike had gotten hurt a few days back. She hadn’t thought of it at the time, but the coincidence of being attacked by a rather uncommon demon in a residential neighborhood was just too much to believe.

*****

Anya and Xander were supposed to return from their honeymoon that evening, and Spike had spent his day wondering whether Anya would fire him if he broke something expensive on purpose. Knowing her, she would dock his paycheck but nothing more. Charging people less than he ought to have? Giving back more change than owed? Ordering gallons of these unmarketable, nasty smelling oils? Simply taking money from the cash register?

Being fired would have the advantage of not having to answer questions about why he didn’t want to work at the shop anymore; he wasn’t quite sure how he could have answered such a question. There was the fact that he had started working so as not to feel so useless, but since Buffy still refused to let him pay for anything more than groceries every now and then, that reason was null and void. There was also his intense and growing dislike with dealing with customers. Finally, there was the talk he had had right there the previous night with Halfrek, one that he wouldn’t forget anytime soon, one he remembered every time he saw the research table. It had felt good, at the time, to air his grievances, even to embellish a bit to get a little more pity from the demon. But even if Buffy had needed to hear some of it, it would probably have been better to have that talk face to face with her, rather than through cameras. He might not have been so abrupt, if he had known she had been listening. He might not even have said a thing.

That was the whole problem, wasn’t it?

“My, you look gloomy. Or are you hung over?”

Brought back to the immediate present by Dawn’s slightly snappish tone, Spike looked over the counter to see her standing there, her arms crossed, her overnight bag thrown over her shoulder. On her way to her sleepover, then.

“I am perfectly fine,” he replied evenly, even if realizing that she, too, had heard his drunken ramblings did not make him feel so proud.

“Did you talk to Buffy?”

Turning his back toward her under the pretext of grabbing a feather duster and cleaning the shelves, he replied curtly that he hadn’t. Things were complicated enough without Dawn trying to interfere. But interfere she did, with a casual announcement that froze Spike in his pretend act of cleaning.

“She told me about the mating thing. She hurts a lot because of it, you know. I don’t think it’s fair to blame her for things being so hard. She has tried…”

“Enough!”

He couldn’t remember the last time he had shouted at Dawn; he wasn’t quite sure he ever had. And if he was to judge by the surprise etched on her face, she hadn’t expected him to either.

“I know you mean well,” he said more calmly, never quite meeting her eyes. “But this is between your sister and me.”

Her jaw clenched as she pivoted on her heels and walked away, throwing a “Whatever” over her shoulder. Spike sighed. Dropping the feather duster to the ground, he folded his arms over the counter and rested his head on them. Everything seemed to be getting worse by the second, and now he had alienated his most fervent supporter in the Summers household. But that wasn’t the worst, though.

Buffy had told Dawn about their mating. She had talked about it with someone else, when she hadn’t even mentioned it in front of him for months. She had talked to Dawn, like she had talked to Tara weeks back, but she wouldn’t talk to him about what was going on between them, instead, making excuses and…

And acting pretty much as he was, he realized with a sinking feeling. They had both played that game at the very beginning of their relationship, and things had been rocky until they had started opening up to each other. Now, clearly, they were back to that. Spike couldn’t understand how they had regressed so far, or why he hadn’t seen the connection until now.

But it would change tonight, he promised himself as much. He would talk to Buffy. Really talk. And they would start mending things. They had to.

And he probably needed a couple of drinks before he even got close to her. High strung as he was, he would start ranting, or shouting at her like he had at Dawn, and that wouldn’t do any good.

A little before closing time, he secured the shop and made his way toward the Bronze; it was the closest bar around. Only a couple of drinks, he promised himself. Not enough for him to become inebriated, and for Buffy to call him on it. The plan changed when he discovered Warren terrorizing the club.

*****

After a long day split between college classes and a shift in Double Meat hell, the evening’s patrol had ended abruptly when she had been thrown backwards into a marble headstone, Buffy wanted two things and two things only: a warm bath and a comfortable bed. What she really didn’t want was to have that long overdue talk with Spike, and she felt a little guilty at being glad he wasn’t home when she returned. She didn’t even allow herself to wonder where he was – patrolling on his own? Getting drunk again? – and instead, focused on these two essential things. Bath. Then bed.

Of course, it didn’t go that easily, and just as she had carefully leaned back into the fragrant bubbles and closed her eyes to relax, a knock on the door startled her.

“Buffy?” Spike’s voice called through. “Are you in there?”

She couldn’t help rolling her eyes. Dawn was off for a couple of days with Janice. Tara and Willow were in the living room still trying to get something out of the material Buffy had brought back from the abandoned trio’s lair. Who else could be in the bathroom?

“I’m taking a bath,” she called through the door. “I’ll be out in a little while.”

He didn’t take the hint, and she regretted not having locked in the door when he entered and closed after him.

“I’ve got to tell you something,” he started, but she shook her head and interrupted him.

“Do you have to do it right now? I’m trying to take a bath.”

What she truly wanted to say was, she wasn’t ready to talk to him yet, she still didn’t know what she was going to say, and she was afraid she would unintentionally hurt him if he forced her into a talk now. But instead of leaving, he stepped forward, and she suddenly noticed the trace of blood at the corner of his mouth and the slight discoloration on his jaw.

“What happened to you?” she asked, alarmed. “Did you get into a fight?”

“That’s what I wanted to tell you,” he said, picking up her robe from where it lay on the sink. “I came across Warren and he…”

“Came across him?” she interrupted him abruptly as she stood and grabbed the towel she had hung from the shower rack. “Or went hunting for him?”

“How about you let me finish?” he snapped. “I wasn’t looking for anyone. And I came here to tell you about it, didn’t I?”

Stepping out of the tub, she took the robe from his hands and turned her back to him to hide her eye roll. Too late, she remembered why she had been taking a bath and turned back, hurriedly pulling the robe on, but he had already seen her bruises.

“What the hell happened to your back?” His eyes were wide and angry; for a second, she thought he was angry with her, before realizing he was probably mad at whoever had hurt her.

Self-consciously pulling the robe around her more tightly, she shrugged and tried not to wince at the twinge of pain the small movement created. “It’s nothing, I just fell.”

“You fell,” he repeated flatly, clearly not believing her.

“Well, I was pushed, really,” she admitted. “Against a tombstone. I’m sure it looks worse than… Ow!” She glared at him and moved away from the questing hand that had caressed along her back. “Don’t do that!”

“Seems to me it’s just as bad as it looks,” he said, very serious and grim. “You should take a night or two off. I could…”

“No.”

The night off had already been on her schedule, but she didn’t let him finish his offer. She was sick with worry every time he patrolled with her; there was no way she was letting him go on his own.

His gaze hardened. “Just let me finish!”

“I know what you’re going to say, and the answer is no. I’m not letting you risk your life needlessly.”

She could tell he was trying to control himself; she could also tell that it wasn’t working.

“Let me… risk… God! Do you think I’d throw myself at demons?”

“You did before,” she shot back. “When we were fighting the glarg-a-chewie thingie or whatever its name was? And look what happened. You got hurt!”

“I got hurt because you were treating me like a child, so I acted like one!” He sneered and gave her a contemptuous look. “You’re the one to talk anyway. You can barely move, how are you supposed to fight? And you never had a problem with me risking my life before!”

The way he was looking at her, the anger she could see in his eyes, as well as hear in his voice, was as hurtful as his words; and Buffy tried to close herself against the onslaught, but it was too late.

“But I hadn’t lost you yet, had I? I am not going through the same thing again.”

“You’re not going through that again? But you’re losing me, right this minute, Buffy. Every time you make me feel fucking useless. Every time I realize I’m not even half the man I was in your eyes.”

She shook her head and turned to the tub to drain the water. Not to hide her face from him, not at all. “Don’t be ridi…”

“Look at me, Slayer,” he growled, interrupting her. “Look at me, eyes to eyes, and tell me you love me today every bit as much as you did when I jumped from that fucking tower.”

She looked at him again; ready to tell him he was wrong, ready to let him know that everything he had told Halfrek the previous night was nothing more than rubbish. But suddenly, she didn’t have the words anymore. Because the anger had left his eyes, but the pain was still there, immense and overwhelming.

“See?” he murmured after a few seconds. “Knew it. I’m not the good little boyfriend that does everything Buffy says and you just can’t stand it, can you?”

She started to reach out for him, but he took a step back and she dropped her hand again.

“Spike, it’s not like that.”

Another step back, and he was at the door. She had the feeling that if she let him leave now, if she didn’t give him a reason to stay, she would lose him for good.

“I love you,” she breathed, then added more loudly on his blank look, “I really do.”

He wanted to believe her, she was sure of it, but she felt as though she needed to be completely honest to convince him.

“But it feels like…” she stalled, unsure how to continue. “It’s not the same,” she started again, and again couldn’t find the words. Shaking her head, she turned away and tried to blink back the tears that were rising to her eyes. “I can’t do this. I’m sorry, I can’t…”

A rough hand on her arm pulled her to face him again, hurting her back again in the process.

“The hell you can’t,” he said very low, so low she knew he was barely restraining himself from shouting. “You started this, you’re going to finish, Slayer.”

She wasn’t sure what did it. Maybe it was him, calling her Slayer in the same tone of voice the vamp who had hurt her back had, earlier. Maybe it was because the anger had returned in his eyes. Maybe it was his hand, too tight on her arm, or the pain in her back. Whatever it was, the tightly sealed bottle in which she had hidden all her pain and resentment broke.

“Finish?” she snapped, pulling her arm free. “And say what? That I can’t love you as much as I used to because I loved the demon just as much as I love the man? That I still feel there’s a part of me missing because I’ve got _you_ back but not my mate? That every time I let you patrol with me it rips out my guts to remember what we both lost when you died? That hearing you say to that tramp you wished you were still a vamp made everything so much worse because I realized you were just as miserable as I am and there’s. No. Fucking. Way. Out of it? Is that what you want to hear, Spike? Want to hear me say I loved you more when you were a vamp? There. I’ve said it. And how is that going to help anything?”

*****

_  
I don’t know how I got out of there._

_I do know she was crying when I left._

_Of course not, I wasn’t crying. Why would you even suggest I was?_

_I felt like… hell, I don’t know what I felt like. The closest thing I can think of is when I got my soul back. All this pain, crammed in me all at once… Yeah, it felt a bit like that. That’s why I ran off. She had cut me deep, even deeper than I thought possible by simply hitting where I already hurt so much. I think by running off I was protecting her, because I was so very close to lashing out, and protecting myself, because one more word from her might have broken me._

_I know, the previous night I had said I thought she didn’t love me as much as she used to, so it shouldn’t have hurt so much, should it? But it was one thing to believe it; quite another to actually hear her confirm it._

_For a while, I just walked; I’m not quite sure how I ended up at the crypt. Habit, I suppose. I stayed there for the night, everything that had happened in the past months replaying in my head, and hurting a little more every time I realized she had given me clues that I hadn’t picked up._

_It’s pretty ridiculous, when you think about it. We were both so trapped in our own pain, so focused on what we each had lost, that we never really reached toward each other, never tried to express that pain, knowing it would have hurt the other. But by saying nothing, we broke things, burned everything that was us, one little bit at a time, until all that was left was pain and bitterness._

_Yes, I know. Easy to say in hindsight. Doesn’t make the memory any easier to bear. Just like having thought that she didn’t love me as much didn’t soften the blow of actually hearing her say it._

_As I said, I spent the night at the crypt, pacing and smoking every single one of my cigarettes, and then… When morning came, it was clear to me that Buffy and I couldn’t keep trying to hold things together, not after what she had admitted. I went out, found a car, and before midmorning had dawned, I was speeding away from Sunnyhell, leaving what I had been – what we had been – behind._


	21. Family

Spike reached Los Angeles at the end of that afternoon. He could have been there earlier but doubts had crept in about halfway through his trip, and he had stopped at a gas station to grab something to eat, buy some cigarettes, and use the pay phone. He called home – called Buffy – but no one answered the phone, and he hadn’t known what to say when the answering machine picked up. He almost turned around, right then and there, before deciding that he had to go through with it. It was the only way for him to get Buffy back. A risky way, but the only way nonetheless. There were so many variables that he couldn’t even begin to try to assess his chances of success. All he hoped, and he had never hoped anything as much, was that, when all was said and done, neither he nor Buffy would end up killing the other.

Keeping that thought in mind, he finished driving to LA and abandoned the stolen car a few blocks from the Hyperion. He would pinch another one when he was ready to return to Sunnydale.

He expected to find the same crew he had briefly met on his last visit, but when he entered the hotel, he stumbled onto… he wasn’t too sure what. Cordelia sat on the sofa in the middle of the lobby, a young man lying practically across her lap, an intense light suffusing the both of them. For a moment, Spike remained frozen where he was, but as the light faded and the boy started sobbing on Cordelia’s shoulder, he noticed Angel, leaning over the balcony above them and looking as gloomy as ever. Spike wasn’t sure what had just happened but it didn’t really matter to him.

He stepped forward just as Angel was coming down, but Angel barely gave him a frown before dragging Cordelia into a nearby office, leaving the kid and an oddly colored demon behind. Irritated by the lack of attention given to him, Spike followed, and this time Cordelia was the one who frowned at him.

“Spike? What are you doing here?”

“I’ve got business with Angel here, so if you’d give us a moment…”

Glancing back through the open door at the kid in the lobby, Angel shook his head. “Not now, Spike,” he said curtly before turning to Cordelia. “What happened out there?”

Ignored by the two of them, and soon by the other demon when he joined them, Spike waited and tried not to glare; it wouldn’t do to antagonize Angel. Better to wait until he was done with whatever was going on and whoever the kid was. But the end of the odd discussion didn’t leave Spike an opening; Angel walked out of the room, sparing him another glare before he went to sit by the kid. This time, Spike glowered back and pulled out his cigarettes as he followed and came to stand near the two.

“I don’t have a home,” the kid – Steven, Spike thought his name was – was saying blankly.

“That's not true. You just don't remember, that's all. Your home is here. This is where you're supposed to be, son.”

Rolling his eyes, Spike faked a cough, drawing both Angel’s and Steven’s attention.

“Speaking of home, how about we pay a bit of attention to the out of towner?”

“Not now, Spike,” Angel said again, this time a warning edge to his voice.

“Yes, bloody well now. It’ll take you five minutes and then you can deal with the confused kid all you want.”

Angel’s eyes went from apologetic, as he glanced at Steven, to cold and dark when he stood up and took a step toward Spike.

“This better be important,” he said coolly. “What do you want?”

The lobby of the hotel wasn’t quite what Spike had imagined, nor had he thought he would have an audience, as Steven looked at him and Angel blankly. Maybe because this new reality didn’t fit into his plan, he gave up on his prepared speech and explanation and went straight to the core of the matter.

“I want you to turn me,” he said bluntly, shrugging out of his coat and pulling at the collar of his shirt to expose his neck.

“Turn you?” Angel repeated, choking on the words. “I can’t…”

“Of course you can,” Spike cut in. “Let me remind you how it’s done in case you have forgotten. You vamp out, tear into my neck, drain me dry, then feed me your blood. Ring any bells?”

Behind Angel, Steven stood and took a few steps to the side; his eyes were wide as saucers, but Spike didn’t give a damn what he thought. All he cared about was if Angel would do what he wanted. But Angel didn’t seem convinced.

“You’re asking me?” he said incredulously, his voice slowly picking up speed. “Are you insane? How could you think for even a minute that I’d bring one more vamp to the world that I’d then have to stake…”

“You wouldn’t need to stake me any more than when I lost my soul,” Spike interrupted him again. “Same deal, really.”

Angel shook his head; the stubborn set of his jaw did little for Spike’s hopes. “No it’s not. It wouldn’t be you. The old you, I mean. A new demon... And it doesn’t matter anyway. I am not turning you. I can’t believe that of all things you came to me, a souled vampire…”

“Don’t start in about your bloody soul,” Spike said, rolling his eyes. “It’s not like you’re killing me for fun. I’m _asking_ you.”

“And that changes things how, exactly?”

Taking one step closer, Spike glared at Angel for all he was worth; maybe angering him would work best, after all. “For once in your fucking life can’t you do something for me? We’re supposed to be family, aren’t we? Isn’t that what you taught William?”

Angel’s expression was entirely void of emotions, and Spike could feel the anger rising in him.

“You wouldn’t even be here if not for me!” he spat, bitter.

Shaking his head, Angel put some distance between him and Spike. “You played those cards when you came here to get ID papers. I helped you get a legit life; no way am I killing you now. I’ve got enough going on without Buffy barging in to stake me for...”

Spike’s reaction surprised even him, and he watched as though standing on the outside as his fist shot toward Angel’s face. Angel stopped it easily, and held it tight in his own hand, making Spike wince as he squeezed.

“Not gonna work, Spike. Make me angry and I’ll send you to the hospital, but I will not turn you.”

Pulling his hand free, Spike considered the vampire whom he had once called Sire. “I thought I could count on you,” he said, his words slow and quiet. “But I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. A century and half, and all you ever did was abandon those you called your own. Makes sense that you’d do that today too.”

Turning his back on Angel, Spike walked out of the hotel, keeping his head high even as his hopes crumbled.

*****

Blinking, Angel watched Spike walk away. He wasn’t quite sure what had just happened; he wasn’t sure he wanted to know either.

“Well, that was… special,” Cordelia said from behind him. “Why would he want…”

“I don’t know,” Angel interrupted her, a little more abruptly than he had meant to, before turning to Connor. He caught himself just before he used the wrong name; it would be hard to get used to calling him by the name another man had given him. “Sorry about all that, Steven,” he said with a grimace. “Have you thought about what I was telling you? Would you like to stay here?”

His son’s eyes seemed dull, a little wary still, but he did nod and Angel took that as a good sign. Resolutely pushing Spike and his odd request out of his mind, he led Connor upstairs to the room he had started preparing for him. It was a little bare, but there would be time to add to the comfort, if Connor stayed.

“So, why didn’t you do it?” Connor asked out of the blue, startling Angel. “Why didn’t you do as he asked?”

There was no mistaking what Connor was taking about, and Angel shook his head.

“I’m not sure I want to discuss it with you,” he replied, more than a little uncomfortable that, of all subjects, his newly found son wanted to talk about that one.

“He wanted it,” Connor continued, unabated. “He asked for it; offered you his blood.”

Turning away suddenly, Angel walked out of the small room. “If you need anything, just ask. My room is just down the hall.”

A week earlier, if Angel had been told he would walk away from his son, he wouldn’t have believed it. Yet that was exactly what he did as he went into his room without a backward glance. He knew, however, that the boy had followed him, and he wasn’t that surprised when the closed door didn’t stop him.

“I want to understand,” Connor said bluntly. “You’re a vampire. Why didn’t you…”

He stopped when Angel’s gaze hardened, and the way his whole body tensed, as though readying for a fight, was both obvious and sickening.

“I know what I am,” Angel said, trying to keep his voice calm. “But I’m not sure you do.” He walked to the fridge and pulled a bag of blood out of it. Without warning, he threw it to Connor, who caught it and examined it with undisguised curiosity before looking back up at Angel.

“That’s what I feed on,” he explained, gesturing to the bag. “Animal blood. No exceptions. Not even if someone is foolish enough to ask.”

And while it might not have been the complete truth, Angel consoled himself with the thought that it was probably a bad idea to give Connor too much information too soon. Once they had a solid base of trust, and if it was necessary, they could delve into the highs and lows of Angel’s unlife. Maybe.

“I’m not sure I believe you,” Connor said after long seconds. He took a few steps toward Angel, returning the blood bag, which Angel put back into the fridge. Angel didn’t reply; he couldn’t force Connor to believe anything. “I mean,” the kid continued, his eyes searching Angel’s face as though he might find an answer there, “why? Why do you kill your kind? Why don’t you drink human blood? It just doesn’t make sense. Father said…”

Angel’s head snapped up. _He_ was Connor’s father, and he wanted to shout it until Connor forgot all about anyone else; keeping his temper was one of the hardest things he had ever done.

“What did _Father_ say? That I am a murderer? That I destroyed his family? That I have killed so many innocents that simply staking me would be too kind?”

Connor straightened under Angel’s gaze, and somehow that simple movement told Angel he was right about what Holtz had put into Connor’s head.

“That’s the truth,” he said, more calmly. “Just not the whole truth. Holtz doesn’t know everything, and neither do you. And it’s what you don’t know that explains why I didn’t turn Spike.”

For what felt like forever, they remained still, each of them observing the other, and Angel wondered if Connor could, maybe, begin to truly believe there was another world beyond the black and white version Holtz had given him.

“Tell me,” he said at last, crossing his arms and demanding more than asking; and after hesitating, Angel slowly nodded.

He told him about the soul and Angelus. Told him about Spike, and why he was human now. Told him about the Shanshu prophecy. Told him that he had found more than a Shanshu when he had first held Connor in his arms. Lost more than his promised redemption when Holtz had taken him away.

Connor listened to all of it, asking few questions, giving few hints as to what he thought. But as time passed, Angel was more and more convinced that he had both been right and wrong this night. Right, because Connor had needed to hear this, to hear Angel’s side of the story, even if he didn’t believe it yet.

Wrong, because as he explained who Spike was, he realized that letting him go had been a mistake. He should have kept him there, called Buffy, maybe even have tried to understand what was going on; his mind too caught up in his son and what was happening with him, Angel hadn’t had any patience for finding out what was going on with Spike. But one thing was clear; Angel should have prevented him from walking out of the Hyperion and into a town filled with vampires.

*****

_While the wanker was playing daddy, I was out going from bar to bar. Didn’t drink a drop, though. I was searching for something, and I finally found it in the unlikely person of a busty blonde who claimed to answer to the name of Cassandra and promised me that the stars had told her we would live together forever._

_Yeah, that gave me a laugh, too. Then it made me wish more than ever that I had known where to look for Dru so that she could have done it. I wasn’t going to start on a wild goose chase, though. For all I knew, Dru could have been dust. Or she might have killed me without turning me. Or she could have made me a minion to keep around as a pet._

_No, for better or for worse, I was stuck with whatever vampires were in LA._

_So, I let Cassandra drag me into a back alley._

_I let her bite me. Told her to go slow, that I wanted to feel every second of it._

_I let her drink enough that I started to get lightheaded._

_Then I staked her._

_There was a cab in front of the bar waiting for me; I got into it by sheer willpower alone. The driver started going berserk when he saw the blood seeping through the fingers I pressed to my neck, and I had to shove more money at him so that he would drive me where I wanted rather than to a hospital. A couple more bills, and he helped me to the door, but after that he was off before I had even stepped in. And when I did, I didn’t go far. Three steps inside the lobby, I collapsed. Angel’s crew rushed to me, applied pressure, rambled on without making any sense, but he finally came and I tried my best to smirk at him when he appeared, looming over me._

_“Do it,” I rasped. “Don’t let it be too late.”_

_I don’t know if he understood what I was trying to say; I’m not even sure I was coherent enough for any of them to make out the words. What I do know is that I wanted to be turned and I bloody well wanted him to do it. I had been a master vampire. I wasn’t going back to the bottom of the ladder, which meant I needed someone strong, to turn me. And yeah, as I had told him earlier, we were family; call me foolish, but I wanted to be part of the Aurelius clan again. It had never mattered as much to me as it had since I had stopped being one of them._

_Still, I can admit I was a bit surprised when Angel finally did it._

_Right there, in the middle of that hotel lobby where he had refused to hear me hours earlier, with his friends around and the kid hovering in the background, he slashed his wrist open with his own fangs. For one second, there was stunned silence as the humans began to understand what he was about to do. Then they were all talking at once and trying to hold him back; but whatever they said, he must not have listened because the last thing I remember, just as my heart stopped beating, was his hand cradling the back of my head, and his blood flooding my mouth and sliding down my throat. And his voice, swearing that he would stake me as soon as I rose._

_Needless to say, he didn’t._


	22. Burned Out

The sun shone brightly above her and a warm breeze stirred the midday air, but Buffy had her arms wrapped around her body as she paced in the garden, half-heartedly examining the bushes for potential nerd-trio cameras; the cold that had settled through her had nothing to do with the weather.

The previous night had drained her, both physically and mentally. Patrol had been bad enough, she still felt the bruise on her back with every movement; but it had been nothing compared to her fight with Warren. She wasn’t sure how it would have ended if Jonathan hadn’t given her the tip about Warren’s magical orbs. She still felt a bit bad that Jonathan had ended up in jail along with Andrew, but she felt even worse that Warren hadn’t. She had a feeling she hadn’t heard the last of him, though, and the prospect of putting him behind bars too was making her impatient.

It had been morning when she had come out of the police station, having told the officers everything she had discovered about the three idiots; and even though she had been exhausted, she hadn’t gone straight home, stopping instead by Spike’s crypt on her way. Fresh cigarette stubs and the lingering scent of smoke had told her he had been there but was now gone. She had rushed home, then, hoping to find him there, yet knowing, deep down, that he wouldn’t be.

Curled on the sofa, she had tried to catch some sleep, too tired to even walk up the stairs to her room. Their room. So empty without him. Before long, the phone had rung and she had listened to Anya rant about how Spike wasn’t there and had he changed the opening hours of the store while she had been gone. Buffy had just told her she didn’t know where Spike was and had left it at that. Too upset to go back to sleep, she had prepared some coffee and listened wistfully to the muffled laughs coming from upstairs. Willow had spent the night, it seemed. At least someone was happy.

Those same laughs were echoing in the garden now, and she turned to see Tara and Willow walk out of the house, hand in hand, both of them looking happier than they had in months. They tried to stifle the giggles as they approached, and Buffy instantly realized what they were doing.

“You don’t have to tone it down because of me,” she said, smiling faintly. “It’s nice to see you happy.”

Tara blushed while Willow beamed.

“You were out late,” Willow said. “Did you find the nerds?”

In as few words as possible, Buffy told them what had happened, finishing with, “At least they won’t be able to drive me insane anymore, now, so things should go back to normal.”

Both her friends nodded, and Buffy kept her worries about Warren quiet.

“Speaking of normal…” Tara said after a few seconds. “I’m really grateful you let me stay here with you for so long but… I think it’s time for me to move out.”

Buffy only needed to see Willow’s even wider smile to understand where Tara was moving.

“It was nice having you here,” she replied truthfully. “But I’m happy you’re happy. It’s good to see there’s hope, you know.”

The depressed note in her own voice was all too obvious, and immediately both Tara and Willow looked at her with concern. She hadn’t meant to turn the discussion toward Spike, but he was all she could think of. She refused to cry, though; at least not in front of her friends.

*****

As happy as she was for herself, incredibly grateful and giddy that Tara had forgiven her, Willow could feel Buffy’s pain and it dampened her own joy. Her best friend had been there for her when things had take a turn for the worse in her own love life, and Willow wanted – needed – to return the favor. At the same time though, she was acutely aware of her own role in Spike’s and Buffy’s problems.

“Do you have any news from Spike?” she asked during a lull in the conversation. Buffy’s smile wavered, and Willow wanted to kick herself for it.

“Nothing,” she answered quietly. “I hurt him pretty bad, so it’s not really a surprise. I think he was at the crypt last night, but…” She paused for a second and shrugged before adding: “I just hope he didn’t do something stupid.”

What stupid thing she had in mind remained unvoiced, but Willow could easily guess, and she unconsciously tightened her hold on Tara’s hand. Even though the argument had taken place upstairs while they were in the living room, they had both clearly heard the shouts, and they knew which of Buffy’s words had sent Spike running off. The stupid thing they weren’t talking about definitely concerned vamps and an exchange of blood that ended up with someone losing their soul.

“I honestly thought I was doing the right thing.” The words came out, apologetic, and Willow didn’t try to stop them. “I mean, I remembered when he was split in two, and you didn’t seem to mind much until we figured out what was going on, so I thought you’d both be better off if he was human. With the white picket fence and going out in the sun together and maybe babies someday and…”

She was babbling now, the words coming faster even as Buffy’s face saddened with each passing second. She was making things worse, she finally realized, and managed to stop herself.

“I’m sorry,” she added, more calmly now but tears rising to her voice and eyes. “If I had seen sooner how wrong it all was, I could have tried to fix it, bring back his demon…”

Buffy’s widening eyes made her realize what she was saying, and she turned a worried glance toward Tara, who was frowning lightly as she looked at her. “Or not, you know. I guess I’ve messed up enough with him. I’m just so sorry you two are hurting and I just wish… not the spell kind of wishing, you know, just wishing…”

Her renewed babble died on her lips when something behind Buffy caught her eyes. Shocked speechless, she barely heard a word of what Warren was saying, all of her attention focused on the gun he brandished threateningly. Her hand was tight on Tara’s, and she wished, more than anything, that she could have done something to protect Tara, and Buffy, and herself from the raving madman in front of them. But she couldn’t, she had promised…

Her promise shattered with a gunshot.

Without thinking, she raised her free hand and did _something_. She wasn’t too sure what. She didn’t want to know. All she wanted to know was that Tara and Buffy would be safe. All she needed to know was that the bullet Warren had fired would never reach any of them.

And as he lay on the ground, bright red spreading over his chest, she knew all that and felt nothing but calm.

*****

By the time Xander drove Buffy home, the sun was low over the horizon, the shadows seemingly endless on the ground as she looked unseeingly through the window.

The afternoon at the police station had been long, even longer because of the hours she had spent there the previous night. But she, Willow and Tara had walked out of there free, the police having accepted their story that Warren had threatened them with a gun, Buffy had struggled with him and the shot had been fired accidentally. The fact that only Warren’s fingerprints had been found on the gun had helped, as had Jonathan’s confession that Warren had been talking of killing Buffy for weeks, and Andrew’s tearful and reluctant confirmation of his words. It was probably a good thing these two had already been in custody. Who knew what would have happened if they had accompanied Warren? Certainly, it had all been an accident, and Willow wouldn’t have hurt them deliberately, but still…

“Buffy? You OK?”

Xander’s words pulled her out of her thoughts and she turned to him, blinking.

“Of course,” she said with a smile as fake as her peppy tone. “Perfectly fine.”

“Sure. That’s why you’ve been staring at your driveway for the last five minutes.”

Belatedly, she realized the car was indeed parked in front of her house. She gave her friend a small shrug.

“It’s been a long day,” she explained.

“I bet. You want me to come in?”

She shook her head, and this time her smile held more truth.

“Nah, I’m good. And Mrs. Harris has to be waiting for you.”

He let out a quiet laugh. “I’m never going to get used to that. Every time I hear that, I think someone’s talking about my mother. Then I remember.”

Buffy’s smile widened a little. “Thanks for picking us up. And say hi to Anya for me.”

Slipping out of the car, she watched Xander drive away before turning to the house, her grin fading instantly. Hours earlier, someone had died in her backyard. Because of what Willow had done, in part. Because he had fired the shot. Because Buffy had upset him enough the previous night to make him lose whatever shreds of sanity he still had left. It was nothing but a big mess. She wasn’t happy Warren was dead, but she couldn’t help feeling much sorrow for Willow. She had seemed to be in complete denial of what she had done, and when reality finally sunk in, it wouldn’t be pretty. At least, Tara would be there for her.

As she tried to unlock the door, Buffy quickly realized it was already unlocked, and her heart jumped inside her chest. Hurrying in, she quickly scanned the living room and kitchen, finding no one, before rushing up the stairs. He was back. Spike was back, she was sure of it. Finally.

She called his name as she opened their bedroom door, but the room was empty. She turned toward the bathroom, calling again, but it was Dawn who answered.

“He’s not here. And neither is Tara. And neither were you.”

Her spirit and hopes crushed, Buffy turned to her sister; leaning against her door with her arms crossed, she looked upset. Of course she would be, coming home from her sleepover to find an empty home and no note of explanation.

“I’m sorry,” Buffy started, and was almost surprised by the sob that prevented her from going any further. Everything that had been happening had finally gotten through to her, just as something had woken up and stirred inside her chest, making her ache and miss Spike more than ever. The tears started rolling down on her cheeks before she could even try to stop them, and she watched through a blur as Dawn’s angry face melted into worry.

“Buffy? What… what’s wrong?”

It took her fifteen minutes to calm down enough to be able to talk, and even then her emotions were frail.

“Spike left,” she murmured, and Dawn’s hand running over her hair stopped for a second before resuming its soothing motion. They were sitting on the floor in the hall, right where Buffy had collapsed in tears, and as she rested her head against her sister’s shoulder, Buffy could almost believe she was the youngest.

“We both said things… hurtful things… and he left. He left yesterday. I don’t know where…”

The sobs were rising again in her throat, and Dawn shushed her gently.

“Shh… Calm down. He’ll be back. You know he will. He’ll never be able to stay away.”

Buffy had never wanted to believe anything more than this quiet affirmation.

*****

_See, I had had this feeling for a while that Willow and magic would end up turning bad in the end. After all, I had been her victim more than once. So, I was actually a bit surprised it took so long for things to blow up. Although when they did…_

_I wasn’t there when it happened, I only heard about it after the fact, but I can explain what happened if you want me to…_

_You do? Huh. Usually you try to shut me up. That’s a nice change._

_So, Willow killed Warren. Yeah, he shot the bullet himself, but somehow I doubt he intended to have it run straight through his own heart. Stronger than a bullet proof vest, the angry witch of the west…_

_Oh, all right, calm down, I’ll stick to the facts. And one fact is, I’m glad she killed him. It saved me from having to decide whether to do it myself or not, and if so how. The way I see it though, a bullet through the heart was too fast by a few hours._

_She tried to say it was an accident. Told Tara, and Buffy, and whoever would listen that she hadn’t meant to do magic, that she had been startled by the shot and had reacted without thinking. I don’t buy it. Not sure Tara and Buffy did either, but they were there, they were spooked too, and they didn’t blame her. That didn’t stop Willow from blaming herself, though._

_They say she tried to pretend for a couple of days that she was fine, but that it was obvious she was anything but. So, Tara kept a close eye on her. That’s how she walked in on her in the backroom at the Magic Box after hours when she was supposed to be working on a group project for school. She had helped herself with the inventory, and had started some major mojo already. From what I understand, she had tried to summon out of thin air that same urn that she had used to bring me back – and when it didn’t work, her rage unleashed a hellish storm on Sunnydale. She wanted to bring back Warren, so she wouldn’t feel so guilty about having killed him. Souls and guilt can make people do strange things._

_Things get a bit fuzzy at that point. Tara tried to reason with her, but Willow wouldn’t listen and when Tara got too close, she lashed out at her. Hurt her. Not that bad, but there was blood. And when Willow saw what she had done, it ended. Her rage, her spell, her magic. She let go of all of it. I’m not sure how that works exactly. Giles says she burned herself out, more or less willingly._

_Willing or not, the result was the same. Since that, she has never been able to do the slightest bit of magic. Even the things that don’t require special abilities are out of her reach; mental block on top of the burning out._

_Tara… I’d say she was too nice in taking her back again, but in her place, I’d probably have done the same._

_For all my mistrust for Willow’s magic, I gotta give her credit for one thing. She…_

_What?_

_Oh, now you want me to shut up. How surprising. Not.  
_


	23. Awakenings

Steven’s hands were closed tight as he leaned against the doorframe, and he was uncomfortably aware that he didn’t have a stake with him. There were weapons in the lobby downstairs; how long would it take him to get there, grab one, and come back? Breaking the door down into splinters would be faster. Yet, he was doing neither thing, just standing there, silent and immobile, waiting with some kind of sick fascination for a vampire to rise.

Only a few steps away from him, Spike’s body lay on a bed, motionless as only the dead could be. Next to him, sitting astride a chair with his arms folded across the back, Angel waited, just as tense as Steven was.

Steven still couldn’t understand it.

The previous night, Angel had practically come to blows with Spike and had refused to turn him. Hours later, Spike had showed up again, very badly hurt, dying, and Angel had barely hesitated before giving him his blood despite his friends’ protests. Then he had taken him to a room upstairs, laid him down on a bed, and as far as Steven knew, he hadn’t left the room all night and all day.

Father had instructed Steven to get to know Angel, to discover his weaknesses by becoming close to him, but so far, Steven was only confused by Angel’s behavior. Confused, and, he could admit it to himself at least, fascinated. Father had told him about Angel; told him he was a beast for whom death would only be a too quick ending to the suffering he deserved. But the creature Steven had met so far was far more complex than anything his father had explained.

“When is he going to wake up?” he asked after clearing his throat, and from the way Angel started, he must not have realized Steven was there.

“The sun will set soon, so it shouldn’t be long now.” He turned a questioning gaze to Steven. “Did you want anything?”

Opening his mouth to speak, Steven closed it again without a word and shook his head. He had come up wanting to find out if Angel was aware that Father was back in this dimension; he had just overheard a shushed conversation between Cordelia, Gunn, and Fred that had left him wondering. Apparently, Fred and Gunn had found out where Father was living. Steven itched to go back to the motel, but Father had told him to stay here, with Angel. Angel didn’t seem to care much if he was around or not, though.

“I used to watch you sleep, when you were a baby,” Angel murmured suddenly, his eyes back on Spike but his words were clearly meant for Steven. “You were so small. It was hard to believe something so precious could have been entrusted to me.”

If possible, Steven tensed even more as the words slid through him, finding cracks he hadn’t even known existed.

“I tried to get you back,” Angel continued, his voice still no louder than a whisper. “You’ve got to know that. I did all I could. Tried my best.” He let out a small, bitter snort. “My best just wasn’t enough.”

Weary but hopeful eyes turned to him, and Steven shifted awkwardly where he stood.

“And I know things have been a bit strange since yesterday but… it’s good to have you here.”

Steven shrugged, unsure what to answer to that. As confusing as everything had been since he had arrived to this world – as confusing as it still was – a very small part of him found the hotel, and the people who lived there… interesting. Almost easy to be with; easier, in any case, than he would have believed.

It shouldn’t have been so easy. It went against everything Father had taught him, and he actually felt guilty for sometimes forgetting that. At other times, that tiny, rebellious part of him, the same part that had made him seek out Angel in the first place, wondered if maybe Father might have been wrong about some things.

Uncomfortable about the topic, he changed it by gesturing toward Spike’s still form.

“Why did you do it? You said you wouldn’t.”

Angel sighed. “I know. But… I couldn’t let him die.”

“But he is dead,” Steven insisted, and for long seconds Angel was silent.

“Your mother wanted me to turn her, too,” he finally said, slowly as though each word cost him. “And when I wouldn’t she still tried to have someone else do it. Just like Spike. I stopped her, and tried to convince her she could live as a human. But in the end, she couldn’t. And when she was a vamp again, she hated me even more for not having done it.”

The mention of his mother made Steven want to ask more, to understand Angel’s words, but before he could convince himself that it was OK to ask, that it was why he was there, Angel spoke again.

“I turned him for the exact same reason I didn’t want to do it. Because he was right. Because even if he’s a pain, I haven’t wished him dead in quite a while. Because he’s family.”

Before Steven could analyze that, there was a small gasping breath coming from the bed and finally movement.

“Family, am I?” Spike’s dry voice rasped.

Angel stood, pushing the chair to the side as he did. “Yeah. Family. Don’t think that’ll stop me from beating the crap out of you, though.”

*****

It was a pain filled voice that slowly roused Spike; a voice that spoke of a woman and siring and hate. A voice that something deep inside him wanted to attribute to his Sire, even as another part of him offered the comment that Angel had been as much before, if only in name. And from what that voice finally said, it seemed Angel’s mind had followed the same path.

“Family, am I?” Spike asked, opening his eyes. Everything seemed blurry, and it took him a few seconds to realize that the contact lenses he was wearing were the cause; he got rid of them with slightly shaky fingers. Movement by his side caught his attention, and as he sat up, he turned to face a now standing Angel. He couldn’t help grinning at the glowering expression.

“Yeah. Family. Don’t think that’ll stop me from beating the crap out of you, though.”

“Last I heard, you were going to stake me when I woke up. Now you just want to beat me up. I’d better go before you change your mind again and decide to shag me instead.”

Angel’s eyes narrowed, while Spike’s grin widened. It was just too easy to rile him up; funny how some things never changed.

“What’s ‘shag’?” a voice asked from behind Angel, and Spike shifted a little to see past him. The same young man from the previous night was standing there, looking rather sullen.

Looking, also, very human. Seeing him there, Spike suddenly realized what he was hearing – a heartbeat. He realized, also, that he was famished, and it was all he could do not to growl.

“Move a muscle toward him and you’re dust.”

Angel’s words were ice; his tone, steel. Only when he saw the kid tense did Spike realize he had vamped out. With some difficulty, he tore his gaze away from the human and shaking his head, tried to regain control over himself.

“Connor, could you get a blood bag from my room?”

Angel hadn’t moved, his attention still fully on Spike; and for the first time, Spike noticed the stake in his Sire’s hand. When had he taken it out?

“My name is Steven,” the kid said rather coldly, but he complied with Angel’s request.

“Get two,” Spike called after him. The hunger was maddening. He started to stand, but Angel’s glare and step closer to him made it clear it was a bad idea.

“Explain it to me,” he said so low he might as well have been growling. “Have you lost your mind? You got a new chance at life and…”

“You mean a new chance at misery,” Spike interrupted him with a snort. “There hasn’t been a day in the past nine months when I haven’t missed being a vamp. Not a fucking day, Angel. And it was worse at night.”

“And so you gave up everything? Including Buffy?”

“I gave up nothing.” His eyes locked with Angel’s, Spike fought back the urge to vamp out again in irritation this time rather than hunger. “She wanted this too.”

Angel’s face revealed nothing but incredulity as he stared at Spike. “I don’t believe you. She…”

“She said as much,” Spike cut in again. “Hell, the only reason why I didn’t do this months ago was because I thought she’d be happier with a human. But she wasn’t. She was just as miserable as me. We were mates, Angel, and it…”

The words died in his throat, and without realizing what he was doing, he brought a hand to his chest, to rest above his now still heart. He could hear Angel talking, expressing more incredulity, but he didn’t pay attention to what he was saying; he could have laughed aloud suddenly.

“We still are,” he murmured, smiling in delight. “I can feel it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Angel scoffed. “It’s not possible. That kind of bond breaks with death.”

“And yet it’s back,” Spike insisted. “I’m not imagining it.”

Angel protested again, going on at length about something that had to do with the calling forth of demons and how he couldn’t be the same demon anymore, but Spike wasn’t listening anymore; he knew Angel was wrong. That flame inside his chest, so warm, so alive, proved it without doubt. He had only felt it for a few hours before jumping to his death, and to have it back was beyond anything he could express. And if he could feel it… did it mean Buffy could too?

Renewed hunger pulled him out of his thoughts when the kid – Steven, Connor, or whatever his name was – walked back into the room, carrying two blood bags in one hand and a stake in the other. Angel stopped him before he could get too close to the bed and, taking a bag from him, threw it at Spike. It was chilly, obviously fresh out of the fridge, but Spike did not hesitate for a second before tearing into it. Pig’s blood tasted as foul as ever, but two bags of it satisfied his hunger well enough; when he looked again at the human a few steps away from him, he felt nothing more than mild curiosity.

The curiosity faded quickly, though, replaced by an all-consuming thought.

He had to go back to Sunnydale.

*****

_I have to say, that first night back in my vampire skin was rather peculiar. I felt more like myself than I had in months, yet my time as a human had left me disoriented. My senses were back to their normal acuity, as was my strength, but while the first time around, back in London, I had had time to get to know what I could do and adjust to it, this time I knew already and I was impatient to put the vampire package to good use. Impatient, also, to return to Sunnydale. But of course my bloody Sire had other ideas._

_When Cordelia came up to announce that she had had a vision, I told Angel I’d be on my way. And he said no. He said I wasn’t leaving Los Angeles until he was sure I wouldn’t hurt a soul – or until he had shoved one inside me with a bit of magic. I told him exactly what I thought of that idea – the word wanker might have been uttered a couple of times – and he replied that if I didn’t go along with the program he would go ahead with the ensouling without waiting. Apparently they already had the orb ready._

_Can’t say I was thrilled by the idea._

_So, I did as he said. And believe me, the irony that I had chosen that wanker for my Sire wasn’t lost on me. The one good thing about it all is that when I asked him not to tell anyone in Sunnydale, he didn’t ask why and passed on my request to his crew._

_We went out, me, my Sire, and his kid, to save the damsels in distress Cordelia had seen. After months of yearning for a real fight, it was heaven to deal with whatever demons those buggers were. I was still a bit off balance, and maybe – just maybe – Angel helped me once or twice. I would have been fine without him, really. He was just being overprotective. He was acting the same way with Connor, and the kid didn’t like it any more than I did._

_The fight was over far too fast; I found something else to occupy us. Nice little nest, only a handful of vamps as most of them were probably out hunting. Connor and I took care of it, and Angel watched. For some reason, he was grinning like a lunatic. As for Connor, it took me a while to realize it but I think he was seeing me as some kind of challenge, as though he had to prove to Angel he could fight better than I could. A kid, I tell you. As much as he tried to shrug it off, he craved Angel’s attention as much as…_

_Yeah. As much as I had, a hundred and a few odd years earlier. I wasn’t a fledgling anymore, though. I was back to what I had been. All that I had been. I figured as much when I realized the mating bond was whole again, but that night proved it ten times over. We found stuff to kill, we killed it, and each time, I felt just a tad more like a master vampire. Like myself. Each time, I wanted just a little more to find Buffy and tell her, show her that I was back. Really back, this time._

_We finally returned to the hotel, and Angel gave me a room close enough to his that I knew he’d keep an eye on – or an ear out for – me. I’m pretty sure he gave me the most uncomfortable bed he could find, too. And he made sure to remind me of the soul hanging over my head like the proverbial sword._

_The next day was even stranger if that was possible. I woke up sometime in the afternoon and went to hunt for blood. I had forgotten how bad pig’s blood was, but my demon didn’t complain too much about it. It was growling for Buffy, though, and without Angel’s repeated warnings, I’d have been long gone. I thought of calling her, but… I don’t know. I wanted to see her, and for her to see me. To see what I had done, for the both of us. Talking wouldn’t have helped anything. All I could hope was that Angel would let me go that night. I was trying to talk him into it – and he wasn’t listening to a word of what I was saying – when Connor came in through the front door, pulling after him a woman who clearly would rather have been anywhere but there._

_What happened next was good enough to be an episode of Passions. All I was missing was some popcorn. Now try to follow ‘cause it gets a bit complicated. The guy who had kidnapped Connor was apparently in town. And Connor had gone to see him, without telling Angel. Now for one thing, Angel didn’t know the guy was around. For another, he hadn’t realized the kid had sneaked out until he came back. So. Connor comes back with this girl, and he tells Angel that she claims he killed his father – and by his father, I mean the kidnapper. Following me so far? The trouble is, when the girl repeats her story for all to hear, she says she saw Angel killing the guy two nights back. Problem is, two nights back Angel was turning me, and from what I hear, he stayed with me until I rose. And Connor saw that._

_Ensued an abundance of confusion, recriminations, explanations and more confusion. Better than a soap opera, I tell you._

_In the end, they let the girl go away, Connor went to his room looking like it was all he could do not to cry in front of the rest of us, and Angel – what else is new? – brooded. And when I asked him if I could go that night, he said no and not to ask him again, that he’d tell me when I was free to leave. I swear I could have staked him right there and then._

_Cordelia had another vision that evening, and this time the whole gang went along. I parted ways with them after we did what we had to and hunted on my own. I could tell that Angel was tracking me, keeping an eye on me I suppose. Connor was with him. How to bond with your son, lesson the first: track a vamp together to make sure he doesn’t kill a soul or kill him if he does._

_For the record, I didn’t. Kill a soul, that is. I honestly didn’t feel like it. I didn’t think much of it at the time, seeing that all I could think of was Buffy. But in time, we’ve realized that being turned by a souled vamp was bound to have consequences. Honestly? I couldn’t have cared less. It’s not as if I was planning to kill humans anyway._

_Back to the Hyperion for my third night there. I ranted at Angel the next day, and annoyed him so much that he cracked and agreed to let me go. I think at that point he was becoming a bit too busy with Connor and Cordelia to care much about me. See me not care at all in return. Who gave a damn if he had found his long lost son and the new girl of his dreams was trying to catch his eye since her own beau had gallantly left her to allow her to be happy?_

_Did I mention the Hyperion could be a soap opera? I’m repeating myself, ain’t I? Want me to shut up?_

_Finish what?_

_Oh. What I was saying last time about Willow. Sure. Before you interrupted me so rudely, I was saying that I was grateful to her because she had made it possible for me to get my demon back. Not just any random demon, but my demon, the same one that had been a part of me for a century and half. That’s why the bond was back and whole, and why I had the strength of a master rather than that of a fledgling. Talked to her about it later, and we’ve figured out what had happened. When she did her spell to resurrect me, she didn’t directly call on my human self. That would have brought back William, and she was clever enough to realize that it wasn’t that sorry tosser Buffy loved – at least, not entirely. So she first called me back – all of me, including the demon – and then replaced the demon with my soul and life._

_The demon was technically resurrected too; it just didn’t have anywhere to go. So it went back to wherever demons wait to be called forth by a siring. And when I forced Angel to turn me, it came straight to me. I like to imagine it fighting its way back to me, snarling and screaming ‘Mine’ as it tore through any other potential demon that defied it. Of course, it came back to me. I was its host – I was it and it was I. But that wasn’t all there was._

_If it did yell ‘mine’, while coming to take possession of my body, I know it was also referring to Buffy.  
_


	24. Delusions

Another day was ending. Another day spent without word from Spike. Buffy refused to count how many nights since his departure this one would make. It hurt too much to think about it. Hands curled deep inside her jacket’s pockets, she tried to keep her thoughts away from him. Dawn unwittingly helped by asking:

“You really think she’s going to be OK?”

There was no need to ask whom she meant. They had spent the last hour visiting Willow in Tara’s dorm. She had seemed extremely pale, and the shadows beneath her eyes told of exhaustion, but Tara had said Willow had managed to sleep for a couple of hours that morning, the first time since the event two nights earlier.

“She’s in good hands,” Buffy replied, thinking back on how attentive Tara had been to Willow’s needs. “She’ll get better.”

At least, and she kept this part to herself, she hoped Willow would get better. It seemed that all her magical abilities had left her; consulted over the phone, Giles had thought the news dire enough that he had offered to come to Sunnydale and help if he could. Tara had politely declined. All Willow needed, she had told Buffy, was to rest and know that she was loved. So far, the rest part had proved to be the more difficult of the two.

“I wonder if she’ll get her magic back,” Dawn mused aloud. “It’d be weird to have a non-witchy Willow. The same kind of weird as…”

Only when Dawn threw her a quick glance that Buffy realized what she had probably been about to say.

“As weird as a non-vampy Spike?” she finished for her, while forcing a smile to her lips. “Probably. But Willow will be fine. She didn’t do magic back when I first met her. Maybe it’ll be better for her this way.”

“Maybe,” Dawn conceded, though she didn’t sound convinced. Buffy was rather sure Spike was still on her mind, and it was time to change the topic before it turned too painful.

“So what do you want for dinner?”

Dawn eyed her with surprise. “What about patrol?”

Buffy wished she could have skipped patrol, but she couldn’t bring herself to do so. It wasn’t a sense of duty that motivated her, but rather the simple hope she might come across Spike during her patrol. If he was still in town, she was sure he had to be patrolling. It was too much part of who he was for him to stop so abruptly.

“We’ll have dinner together, and I’ll patrol later,” she finally announced. “It can wait a couple of hours. Nothing says I have to be out as soon as night falls.”

They planned their dinner together, creating extravagant dishes from ingredients they didn’t have at home before deciding on something simple but doable. Buffy knew Dawn missed Spike and Tara, and that she was worried about Willow, but she was putting up a good front and the least Buffy could do was to follow her example.

*****

From his hiding spot across the yard, Spike could barely see silhouettes walking through the kitchen, and nothing more. The voices though were clear, small laughs as the two sisters teased each other and talked about small things as they had dinner. He wondered where Tara was. He wondered, also, whether they missed him as little as this scene seemed to imply.

He had arrived in Sunnydale the previous night, and tried to force himself to go and find Buffy. As much as he had wanted to get back to her, the possibility that she might not take the news of his fanginess well haunted him. He had finally gone to a demon bar to find some liquid courage and had found more than he had bargained for in the form of a brawl. By the time he had left the trashed out bar, it had been late enough that he had been sure Buffy would be in bed. Going to her with cuts and bruises marring his face might not have given her the best first impression.

As far as he could tell, the cuts had healed during the night and he was now ready to try again. Ready, and yet there he was, lurking in the backyard instead of simply going to the door, waiting for Buffy to leave the house. He wanted them to be alone for this first talk. Too much rested on her reaction for him to risk anyone or anything influencing her. He wanted to know what she thought, how she felt. Nothing more, nothing else.

But when she finally went out, presumably for patrol, Spike didn’t immediately go to her as he had planned. Instead, he followed her, keeping far enough that she wouldn’t notice him, watching her fight. Watching her seem so incredibly sad, after she had appeared so happy with Dawn. Watching her, eventually, enter his crypt. Somehow, it reassured him to know she was still looking for him.

He didn’t follow her inside, but rather settled on a tombstone a few yards from the entrance, and, lighting a cigarette, waited for her to come out.

He had rehearsed his speech in the car while driving back from LA. He had rehearsed it again all day long, stuck in the crypt and waiting for sunset. Now, he couldn’t remember a word of what he had planned to say. All he knew was that soon, she would know he was back. All he could hope was that she would be happy.

*****

Every night, since he had left, Buffy had come by Spike’s crypt. She knew he had been there that first night, when they had argued, but the crypt had remained the same since, with no trace of him.

No trace of him, until tonight.

As soon as she stepped in, she could tell that something was different. It didn’t take her long to find the almost empty bottle on the sarcophagus. Heart pounding in her chest, she rushed down to the lower level. The bed was unmade; the sheets no longer perfectly tucked in as she had left them three nights earlier. Even though she could already tell that he wasn’t there, she called Spike’s name and looked for more clues of his presence.

A t-shirt balled up and thrown in a corner turned out to be stiff with blood, and Buffy’s heart leapt to her throat. Immediately, she knew what he had done. As she had thought he would, he had to have been patrolling and had met strong resistance. He had been hurt. Frantic, she pulled the sheet off the bed and inspected the fabric. There were faint traces of blood, but nothing that hinted at a serious wound. She breathed a little more easily but was still slightly shaken when she sat down on the edge of the bed.

“What game are you playing, Spike?” she murmured, looking around once more as though expecting him to walk out of the shadows.

The only positive point so far was that he seemed to be back. At least, back where she could find him. All of the rest seemed rather grim, be it the fact that he lived in a crypt that had no heat, no hot water, no real bathroom or kitchen and stolen electricity. Or that he seemed to be fighting and getting hurt. Or that the bottle upstairs and the fresh cigarette stubs on the ground showed rather clearly he had returned in force to his most unhealthy habits.

She could almost have believed he was playing at being a vampire. And if he was, it was her fault. She regretted the hurtful words she had thrown at him in the heat of anger and pain. Hurtful but true; she wished she had never told him. She wished, also, that she had let him go to England when he had suggested it might be good for the both of them. Maybe he had been right. Because even though she missed him with every breath she took, the deep ache in her chest had healed, maybe helped by not being reminded, every time she saw him, by how different Spike was from the man who had been her mate.

Absentmindedly, she rubbed at the spot over her heart that had hurt for so long. The absence of the pain had startled her, at first, but she had gotten so used to it that she had even drawn some comfort from it. When Spike returned, she had been telling herself, she would be ready to try again. Try harder.

Now he had returned. Or at least, she thought he had.

Suddenly unable to bear the idea of waiting any longer, she climbed back up to the upper level. She would go and try to find him; if she didn’t, she could still come back to his crypt later with the reasonable hope that he would be there.

She never expected to find him sitting on a slab of marble only a few yards from the crypt’s entrance. Shock froze her, hand still on the door she had pushed open, and for long seconds she simply watched him. Took in the sight of him. Catalogued little details she had missed without even realizing she did; the color of his hair under the moon, the casual movement of his hand as he brought a cigarette to his lips and took a long drag before flicking it away, the angle of his head as he observed her, the graceful ease with which he stood.

Finally taking a deep breath, she took a few steps toward him, relieved as she approached that she couldn’t see any obvious wounds on him. She didn’t realize she had spoken until he answered her words.

“Missed you too, luv.”

Yet, despite the mutual admission, they remained apart, too far to touch. She wanted nothing more than to jump in his arms, but his own reserve scared her a little.

“You slept in the crypt last night,” she said, half questioning, half commenting. Spike nodded but did not say a word. “And I suppose you’ve been patrolling, seeing how your t-shirt was all bloody. Please tell me you got drunk _after_ , not before?”

Of all things, he smiled as he shook his head. “Buffy,” he started quietly, but she had too much to say to let him go first.

“I’m sorry,” she said, the words passing her lips in a rush. “I should never have said these awful things. I was hurt, and I guess… I guess I tried to hurt you too, and…” Spike’s smile was fading slowly, and she gulped nervously. “I wish we could have talked about it rationally rather than arguing. I mean… I never wanted you to pretend you’re a vamp.”

“I’m not pretending anything,” he replied, very calm, but Buffy had trouble believing him.

“You’re living in a crypt, Spike. And patrolling, and drinking, and…” Taking a deep breath, she stopped herself before she could start ranting. This was not what she had wanted to tell him, not by a long shot.

“I’d like us to try again,” she said after a second, her eyes locked to his. “If… if you think we still have a chance together, that is. If you still want to try.”

He was silent for so long that she thought it was his answer, but when he finally talked, she almost wished he hadn’t.

“We don’t have a choice, luv. We have to try. The mating bond will make us miserable if we fight it.”

That was when it struck her. He wasn’t playing at being a vamp. It was worse than that. He was delusional. She had hurt him so much that he had lost his mind.

“It’s OK, Spike,” she murmured, pushing a weak smile to her lips. “Everything’s going to be OK. I’ll help you, I promise. I’ll help you accept what you are, now. We’ll get used to it together.”

It wasn’t until reality looked at her through golden eyes that she realized she was the one deluding herself.

*****

_She gave me the best possible opening, didn’t she? Couldn’t have dreamt of a better one. There she was, telling me that she was ready to embrace who and what I now was, ready to help me adapt to it…_

_What I did?_

_I thanked her. Gave her a nice smile._

_Then I proved to her what I was exactly. Who I was. I vamped out._

_Her eyes went wide, and her heart started hammering so loudly in her chest that it was all I could hear. I let the human mask slip back into place, and tried to soften my smile._

_“This is who I am, luv. This is who I always was.”_

_She shook her head and babbled some incomprehensible nonsense, which I silenced by reaching out to her and stroking her cheek with the back of my fingers. She quieted down, but her eyes remained just as wide and incredulous._

_“I know you feel it. Right where there was that big void before… the flame… it’s back, isn’t it? It was back for me as soon as I woke up. Tell me you feel it, luv. Tell me…”_

_She took a step back, breaking contact with me, but her hand rose and touched a spot over her heart, telling me quite clearly I was right, even if she didn’t say so aloud. What she did say… I can’t pretend I hadn’t seen it coming._

_“You’re dead. Again.”_

_“I’m not—“ I tried to say, but she didn’t let me finish._

_“And it’s my fault. Again.”_

_She finished on a sob. She turned away and ran off. I sat back down on the tombstone and watched her go, taking out my cigarettes and lighter again._

_All things considered, it went better than I had imagined._


	25. Fourth Time

Even though he practically ached to go after her, Spike gave Buffy a twenty-minute head start before following. She had been upset to realize he was a vampire again, that much had been clear; he supposed that giving her some time to calm down would help. Maybe it would allow her to remember that she had said herself she wished he had still been a vamp. And once she understood what it meant that their bond was whole again, things would certainly go more smoothly. At least, he hoped they would. She hadn’t staked him on sight; that had to be a good sign.

Following her scent, he quickly realized she had run home, and let habit guide his steps as his mind wandered. Somehow, he couldn’t make himself think of the Revello house as of his home. It had been his home when he had been human, but deep down, it felt as though that person hadn’t been him, so the home hadn’t been his either. When he had lived in Revello before, it had never been for more than a few nights at a time, and he had always felt like a guest.

Even as he knocked on the door, he was intensely aware of the key in his duster’s pocket, but he left it where it was and waited for someone to open for him. For all he knew, he might need an invitation to get in anyway.

He had hoped for Buffy, but Dawn was the one who opened the door. The expression on her face was one of pure joy, and she immediately hugged him. Strangely enough, it made him realize that Buffy hadn’t done as much and had remained a few steps away from him while they had talked. He tried to ignore the pain of that unexpected cut to smile back at Dawn.

“I knew you’d be back!” she exclaimed as she stepped back from the hug. “You’re here to make up with Buffy, right? So much happened while you were gone.”

He was a little amused, by both her babbling and how she was even more right than she knew. Reaching with his left hand in front of him, he tested the entryway, a little puzzled but happy when he met no barrier. Dawn watched him do this, her eyes widening in realization.

“Spike? What are you doing?”

“Just checking if I need an invite. Although you shouldn’t have invited me in if I had needed one. You remember that lesson, right?”

She rolled her eyes at him and opened the door more widely as an answer, standing aside so that he could enter. “I trust you,” she said simply. “And you can trust that I’ll stake you if you make Buffy cry any more.”

“Don’t plan to,” he assured her as he entered. “But maybe I’ll teach you how to stake vamps one of these days, just so you know where to aim in case you need to.”

She shook her head, but hugged him again, mumbling: “I’m glad you’re back.”

Somehow, Spike had a feeling she didn’t mind too much that he was a vampire once more.

He could hear the water of the shower even before he reached the second floor, and for a moment, he thought of joining Buffy in the bathroom. The idea vanished as the muffled sound of sobs reminded him how their last conversation in the bathroom had turned out. Wincing at the memory, he decided that it was best to wait. The door to her room was open and he walked in, feeling awkward as though he hadn’t spent the last few months sleeping there.

His nerves felt raw and he had a cigarette in his mouth before he could even realize what he was doing. A sure way to piss her off, certainly, but he needed to calm down, and a cigarette was better than any alternative he could think of. Opening the window, he leaned against the sill and made sure to direct the smoke outside.

The sound of water soon ceased, and he unconsciously tensed as he waited for Buffy to come to him.

*****

The tears were washed away as soon as they rolled on her cheeks, and Buffy wasn’t trying to hold them back anymore. She wasn’t even sure why she was crying. Part of her was elated that Spike had come back, so maybe they were tears of happiness. Another part insisted on reminding her of what Spike had lost because of her, because of what she had told him, and grief was definitely mixing in with the happiness.

At least, he wasn’t evil. Or he hadn’t looked evil. He could have snapped her neck with ease, while she had been too shocked to react, but he hadn’t done anything to hint at violence. All he had done was make her become conscious of what had replaced the ache in her chest. It had hurt for so long that she hadn’t realized, until he had pointed it out, that the warm flame of their bond had returned. She couldn’t believe, now that she knew, that she had failed to notice and understand. Maybe she had known, deep down, and had just refused to admit it to herself. Just like the impression she had had all night that a vampire was close to her, and that she had ignored until Spike had shown her his game mask.

The same impression she was having now, in fact.

Shutting the water off, she stepped out of the tub and dried herself quickly, regretting not having brought clothes into the bathroom with her. Securing the damp towel around herself, she walked out of the bathroom and followed the instinct that was calling her to her bedroom.

For a moment, she almost believed she was dreaming. The room was dark, the only light coming from outside, and all she could see was his silhouette in front of the window, then the glowing red tip of his cigarette. She had awakened more than once, in the past few days, seeing Spike next to her only to realize that she was still dreaming. This time, though, when she turned on the light, he did not vanish; instead, he merely turned toward her after having flicked his cigarette out the window.

“Are you OK?” he asked, his voice a mix of concern and guilt; he must have heard her cry.

“I’m fine,” she lied, and then realized what she was doing. This was how they had gotten to this point. Maybe it was time for complete truth. “And by that I mean I barely know what I feel anymore. I’ve missed you. I’m glad you’re back. But…”

At a loss for words, she shrugged. She could barely express her fears and hopes to herself, any more than that was just too much. A shiver ran through her, the damp towel and open window giving her goose bumps; she reached for the pajamas at the foot of her bed and eyed Spike for a second. She felt a little reluctant about dropping the towel while they were having a serious talk. A few delicate maneuvers later, she had dressed without flashing him while he observed her with a look of puzzlement.

“Are you afraid of me?” he asked, his voice too quiet to pick up his emotions from it.

“No, I’m not afraid,” she replied, this time truthfully. “Is that why you think I ran away?”

“Was wondering. I expected you to try to stake me, not that.”

She blinked, unsure what he meant exactly or why he would think she’d want to stake him. He seemed to notice her confusion because he added quickly: “Not that I did anything to deserve a staking.”

Somehow, she wanted to believe him. If he had gone and gotten himself turned because of her, she doubted he would have risked losing her by starting to kill again.

“I didn’t run off because I was afraid,” she said with a slight shake of her head as she sat on the edge of the bed, her legs curled beneath her. “I… It’s the second time in a year that you’ve died because of me. I’m not getting used to it, I guess.”

Her voice remained smooth, even though inside she felt like crying again.

“You’re wrong,” Spike answered flatly. He didn’t move from where he stood by the window, but his hands tightened so much on the sill that she heard the wood creak. “I didn’t die because of you. Neither time. I made choices, and I won’t— I _can’t_ let you take that from me.”

As much as she wanted to believe him, she remembered what she had said before he had left, and she was lucid enough to admit her responsibility.

“You don’t have to pretend,” she told him with a slight smile. “I know what I said, and without me you wouldn’t have…”

“Without you,” he interrupted her, “I would have gotten my fangs back months ago. I thought you wanted me human. That’s the only reason why I didn’t do it sooner. When you showed me I was wrong about that, you freed me, more than anything else. Freed me from myself, so that I could do and be what and who I wanted.”

Her mouth opened, ready to protest again, but closed without saying a word. She wasn’t sure what to think anymore. If that was really what Spike had wanted…

“I’ve come a long way, luv,” he said as he slowly walked around the bed and to her. “Never thought I’d travel this road, but I have, and it’s been my choice. All the way through. Ever since the first time you invited me into this house. Remember?”

She thought briefly before nodding. She remembered it as clearly as though it had been the previous night. Kendra’s blood on the library floor, Willow in the hospital, Giles kidnapped, and Spike coming to her with a truce offer.

“When you offered to help me take down Angelus,” she murmured.

One last step and he was standing by her side. She raised her head toward him just as his hand came to brush a wet strand away from her cheek.

“I didn’t have a soul when I came to you that night,” he murmured. “And when it comes down to it, getting one didn’t change me. I was the same man before and after. What the soul did was push me on to your side of the fight. So that instead of thinking about killing you and your friends, your family, I could just see who you all were. And I liked what I saw. Fell in love with you. And you… you did the same when they shoved that chip in my head. You saw me, you saw the vamp without seeing the killer, and you accepted the idea that you could love me.”

It wasn’t that easy, she wanted to protest, but again she remained quiet. Because in a way, it _was_ that easy. Their relationship had always been about looking past the surface and seeing what hid beneath.

“We’re back to that beginning, Buffy. You need to decide again if you can live with the fangs.”

After what she had told him a few nights back, she found it strange for a moment that he would even question her feelings toward the vampire part of him. But then, she understood what he meant. They had hurt each other a lot, during these long months, sometimes without meaning to, sometimes on purpose. They couldn’t just forget everything that had happened and pick up where they had left things at the foot of Glory’s tower. It would have been easier, of course, but it would have felt like cheating.

“We’re starting again, aren’t we?” she asked as she took his hand and squeezed it lightly.

“Looks like it. We’ll get it right eventually. Just have to keep trying.”

She didn’t reply, but she smiled.

*****

_That smile held the promise that we could still repair what we had broken. And we did repair it, by taking it slow._

_Yes we did._

_I was there, wasn’t I? I know what happened. And if I tell you…_

_Oh, all right, don’t get on your big horses. We took it slow for three days. Happy? Hell, for us that is slow._

_We had been through these first, hesitant steps more than once before. A first time after the big poof – wait… I should show a bit more respect for my Sire, shouldn’t I? Let me correct that – a first time after the wanker had left for LA, a second time after I had been chipped, a third time when I came back from the dead… Yeah, it was our fourth time starting over, our fourth first time when we fell into bed three nights later… Although now that I think about it, it was more grass and tree leaves than soft mattress and silk sheets. It didn’t matter, though, we were back together, back to trusting each other in a fight and in life, and that was the important thing._

_That didn’t mean smooth sailing from then onward, though, not for us, not with both our tempers and not as long as we lived on the Hellmouth. But I’m sure they’ve heard enough by now to realize that. There were tempests. There were wrecks, or near wrecks, and shouting, and sulking, and messy making ups. But there was also love. So much of it that nothing else mattered in the end._

_There was a vamp, a bloody foolish one at that, who loved the best Slayer there had ever been with all of his silent heart, all of his inexistent soul, all of his demon, all that he was._

_And by some strange miracle, she loved him back._

_That’s the stuff they make fairytales from, that, ain’t it?_

_So, what do you think? Does that make me Prince Charming or the big, not so bad ogre?  
_

 

**The End**


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